Ill 



I 




Qass. 
Book- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



A BOOK 



New England Legends 



OLK Lore 



In f rojse ant) foctrn 



BY 



SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE 

AUTHOR OF " NOOKS AND CORNERS OF THE NEW ENGLAND COAST,' 
"old LANDMARKS OF BOSTON," ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED BY F. T. MERRILL 



/^^^^^^'^^'^^f'^^it^^ 



BOSTON 
ROBERTS BROTHERS 






"5" 



J/' 

Copyright, 1883, 
By Samuel Adams Drake. 



Cambrittgf : 

PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 
UNIVERSITY PRESS. 



INTKODUCTION. 



THE recovery of many scattered legendary waifs that not 
only have a really important bearing upon the early history 
of our country, but that also shed much light upon the spirit of 
its ancient laws and upon the domestic lives of its people, has 
seemed to me a laudable undertaking. This purpose has now 
taken form in the following collection of New-England Legends. 

As in a majority of instances these tales go far beyond the 
time when the interior was settled, they naturally cluster about 
the seaboard ; and it would scarcely be overstepping the limit 
separating exaggeration from truth to say that every league of 
the New-England coast has its story or its legend. 

Disowned in an age of scepticism, there was once — and 
the time is not so far remote — no part of the body politic over 
which what we now vaguely term the legendary did not exer- 
cise the strongest influence ; so that, far from being merely a 
record of amusing fables, these tales, which are largely founded 
on fact, disclose the secret springs by which society was moved 
and history made. One looks beneath every mechanical con- 
trivance for the true origin of power. That is to assume that 
the beliefs of a people are the key to its social and political 
movements, and that history, taken in its broadest sense, cannot 
be truly written without having regard to such beliefs. Had 
the conviction that witches existed not been universal, public 
sentiment would never have countenanced the executions that 
took place in New England. 



vi INTRODUCTION. 

It may be said, then, that while History has its truth, the 
Legend has its own ; both taking for their end the portrayal 
of Man as he has existed in every age, — a creature in whom 
the imagination is supreme, and who performs deeds terrible 
or heroic according as it may be aroused into action. 

No apology need be made for the prevalence of superstition 
among our ancestors. Our century is not the judge of its prede- 
cessors. It was a superstitious age. King Charles I. inherited 
all the popular beliefs. He kept, as an attache of his court, an 
astrologer, whom he was accustomed to consult before enter- 
ing upon any important or hazardous undertaking. Laud, the 
highest prelate in England, the implacable persecutor of our 
Puritan ancestors, was a man haunted by the fear of omens. 
Indeed the most exalted personages in Church and State yielded 
full credence to all those marvels, the bare mention of which 
now calls up a smile of incredulity or of pity. New England 
was the child of a superstitious mother. 

Since the assertion is so often made that this is a practical 
age, owing no allegiance whatever to the degrading thraldom of 
ancient superstition, but coldly rejecting everything that cannot 
be fully accounted for upon rational grounds, I have thought 
it worth while to cite a few of those popular beliefs which 
neither the sceptical tendencies of the age we live in, nor its 
wonder-working achievements, have been able to eradicate. They 
belong exclusively to no class, and have been transmitted from 
generation to generation through the medium of an unwritten 
language, to Avhich the natural impulse of the human mind 
toward the supernatural is the common interpreter. While 
religion itself works through this mysterious channel of the 
Unknown and the Unseen, one need not stop to argue a fact 
that has such high sanction. So long as these beliefs shall 
continue to exert a control over the every-day actions of men, 
it would be useless to deny to them a place in the movements 
regulating society ; and so long as the twin mysteries of life 
and death confront us with their unsolved problems, it is 
certain that where reason cannot pass beyond, the imagination 



INTEODUCTION. vii 

will still strive to penetrate within, the barrier separating us 
from the invisible world. This invisible world is the realm of 
the supernatural. 

You will seldom see a man so much in a hurry that he will 
not stop to pick up a horseshoe. One sees this ancient charm 
against evil spirits in every household. In fact this piece of 
bent iron has become the popular symbol for good luck. Throw- 
ing an old shoe after a departing friend is as common a practice 
to-day as it ever was. Very few maidens neglect the opportu- 
nity to get a peep at the new moon over the right shoulder ; 
and the old couplet, — 

See the moon through the glass, 
You '11 have trouble while it lasts, — 

is still extant. I know people who could not be induced to sit 
with thirteen at the table, who consider spilling the salt as 
unlucky, and who put faith in dreams ! 

With Catholics the belief in the efficacy of charms and of relics 
is a part of their religion. It is not long since a person adver- 
tised in a public journal for a caul ; while among ignorant people 
charms against sickness, or drowning, or evil spirits are still much 
worn. But their use is not wholly confined to this class ; for I 
have myself known intelligent men who were in the habit of 
carrying a potato in their pocket, or of wearing a horse-chestnut 
suspended from the neck, as a cure for the rheumatism. 

Sailors retain unimpaired most of their old superstitions con- 
cerning things lucky or unlucky. Farmers are invariably a 
superstitious folk, — at least in those places where they have 
lived from generation to generation. The pretty and touching 
custom of telling the bees of a death in the family is, as I have 
reason to know, a practice still adhered to in some parts of the 
country. The familiar legend of the hedgehog remains a trusted 
indication of an early or a late spring. Farmers have many super- 
stitions that have been domesticated among them for centuries. 
For instance, it is a common belief that if a creature loses its 
cud the animal will die unless one is obtained for it by dividing 



vm INTKODUCTION. 

the cud of another beast. A sick cow will recover by having a 
live frog pass through her ; but the frog must be living, or the 
charm will not work. If a dog is seen eating grass, it is a sign 
of wet weather ; so it is if the grass is spotted with what is vul- 
garly called frogs' spittle. The girls believe that if you can form 
a wish while a meteor is falling, the wish will be fulfilled ; they 
will not pluck the common red field-lily, for fear it will make 
them become freckled. In the country there are still found persons 
plying the trade of fortune-telling, while the number of haunted 
houses is notably increasing. The " lucky-bone " of a codfish and 
the " wishing-bone " of a chicken are things of wide repute. 

Plants and flowers — those beautiful emblems of immortality 
— have from immemorial time possessed their peculiar attributes 
or virtues. There are the mystic plants, and there are the 
symbolical ones, like the evergreens used in church-decoration 
and in cemeteries. Where is the maiden who has not diligently 
searched up and down the fields for the bashful four-leaved 
clover? How many books enclose within their leaves this 
little token of some unspoken wish ! The oracle of the Mar- 
guerite in Goethe's "Faust," — 

II m'aime ; 

II m'aime beaucoup ; 

A la folie ; 

Pas du tout, — 

may oftener be consulted to-day than many a fair questioner of 
Fate Avould be willing to admit. Let those who will, say that 
all this is less than nothing ; yet I much doubt if the saying 
will bring conviction to the heart of womankind. 

Precious stones continue to hold in the popular mind some- 
thing of their old power to work good or evil to the wearer. 
A dealer in gems tells me that the sale of certain stones is mate- 
rially affected by the superstitions concerning them. It will 
be seen that some of these superstitions attach to the most im- 
portant concerns of life. My friend the dealer, who is quite 
as well versed in his calling as Mr. Isaacs was, says that the 



INTKODUCTION. IX 

opal is the gem that is most frequently spoken of as unlucky, 
and that the sale of the opal of late years has been very slow on 
that account. "It seems," he continues, "as if many ladies 
really believed that it would bring them misfortune to wear or 
even to own an opal ; and we frequently hear ladies say that 
they would not accept one as a gift." Some writers attribute 
this unpopularity to Scott's "Anne of Geierstein." This, at 
least, is a modern superstition ; for the opal was once considered 
a talisman of rare virtue. 

An old jeweller tells me that he frequently sells a moonstone 
as a " lucky stone." It is of little pecuniary value, but he says 
that it is worn in rings and charms as bringing good luck. The 
moonstone has furnished Wilkie Collins with the theme for 
one of his weird tales. 

My informant goes on to say that "a fine turquoise is of a 
beautiful blue, — about the color of a robin's egg. For some 
reason not perfectly understood it changes from blue to green, 
and sometimes to white. I own a turquoise myself, which I 
am sure changes color, sometimes looking green, and sometimes 
blue. This change of color gave rise to the belief that the 
color of a turquoise varied with the health of the wearer, being 
blue when the wearer was in good health, and white or green 
in case of ill-health. The emerald is said to be the symbol of 
jealousy, — ' the green-eyed monster.' For this reason it is not 
considered as being suitable for an engagement-ring. I don't 
know that I ever heard of one being offered as an engagement- 
gift ; and if a young gentleman should ask my advice in regard 
to buying an emerald ring for this purpose, I should dissuade 
him, on the ground that the young lady might look upon it as 
a bad omen." This feeling or superstition is used in Black's 
story of "The Three Feathers," in which a marriage is pre- 
vented by the gift of an emerald ring ; "for," says the novelist, 
" how could any two people marry who had engaged themselves 
with an emerald ringV A sapphire, on the contrary, given 
by another admirer, brings matters to a happy conclusion ; once 
more fulfilling the prophecy of an old rhyme, — 



X INTRODUCTION. 

Oh, green 's forsaken, 

And yellow 's forsworn, 
And blue 's the sweetest 

Color that 's worn ! 

There certainly is a difierence in the way that all these be- 
liefs are received, — some people subscribing to them fully and 
frankly, while others, who do not like to be laughed at by 
their sceptical neighbors, speaking of them as trifles. But such 
doubters may be better judged by their acts than by their pro- 
fessions, — at least so long as they are willing to try the potency 
of this or that charm, "just to see how it will come out." 

To return to the legendary pieces that compose this volume, 
it is proper to state that only certain poetic versions have hither- 
to been accessible to the public, and that consequently impres- 
sions have been formed that these versions were good and valid 
narratives ; while the fact is that the poems are not so much 
designed to teach history or its truth, as to illustrate its spirit 
in an effective and picturesque manner. Yet in most cases they 
do deal with real personages and events, and they stand for 
faithful relations. 

It was this fact that first gave me the idea of bringing the 
prose and poetic versions together, in order that those interested, 
more especially teachers, might have as ready access to the truth, 
as hitherto they have had to the romance, of history. 

For enabling me to carry out this idea my thanks are espe- 
cially due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., who promptly 
granted me their permission to use the several extracts taken 
from the poems of Longfellow, Whittier, and Holmes; and 
I beg all those literary friends who have extended the like 
courtesy to accept the like acknowledgment. 

S. A. D. 

Melrose, Mass., Oct. 1883. 




Part Ji'rgt. 



BOSTON LEGENDS. 

PAGE 

The Solitary of Shawmut. — J. L. Motley 3 

Boston Common. — 0. W. Holmes 10 

Mistress Anne Hutchinson H 

The Death of Rainsborough 22 

The Case of Mistress Ann Hibbins 28 

Mary Dyer 36 

The King's Missive 46 

The Quaker Prophetess 56 

In the Old South Church. — J. G. Whittier 59 

More Wonders of the Invisible World 60 

Calef in Boston. — J. G. Whittier 65 

Nix's Mate 66 

The Duel on the Common 69 

Due d'Anville's Descent 71 

A Ballad of the French Fleet. —5'. IT. Zon^/e/^ow 75 



xii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Christ Church. — Edwin B. Russell 77 

Paul Revere's Ride 78 

Peter Rugg. — William Austin 90 

A Legend of the Old Elin. — Isaac McLellan, Jr 105 

Roxbur J Puddiug-Stone Ill 

The Dorchester Giaut. — 0. W. Holmes Ill 



Part Scconli. 

CAMBRIDGE LEGENDS. 

The Washington Elm 115 

The Last of the Highwaymen 119 

The Eliot Oak 121 

Part Srttrti. 

LYNN AND NAHANT LEGENDS. 

The Bridal of Pennacook 128 

The Pirate's Glen 132 

Moll Pitcher 137 

mgh. 'Rook. — Elizabeth F. Merrill 141 

Nahant 148 

The Sea-Serpent 156 

The Floure of Souvenance 159 

Swampscott Beach 162 

Part JFourtl^. 

SALEM LEGENDS. 

Salem 167 

The Escape of Philip English 176 

Endicott and the Red Cross 180 

Cassandra Southwick 183 

The Witchcraft Tragedy 188 

Giles Corey the Wizard 194 

The Bell Tavern Mystery 196 



CONTENTS. 

Part JFiftfi. 
MARBLEHEAD LEGENDS. 



PAGE 



Marblehead : The Town 205 

The Shrieking Woman 211 

The Strange Adventures of Philip Ashton 212 

Agnes, the Maid of the Inn 221 

Skipper Ireson's Bide 227 

A Plea for Flood Ireson. — Charles T. Brooks ........ 232 



Part St'itfi. 
CAPE-ANN LEGENDS. 

Cape Ann 237 

Captain John Smith 243 

Thacher's Island 244 

Anthony Thacher's Shipwreck 245 

The Swan Song of Parson Avery. — J. G. Whittier 252 

The Spectre Leaguers 253 

The Garrison of Cape Ann. — J. G. Whittier 258 

Old Meg, the Witch 259 

An Escape from Pirates 261 

Norman's Woe 263 

Hannah binding Shoes. — Lucy Larcom 267 



Part Se&mtij. 

IPSWICH AND NEWBURY LEGENDS. 

Ipswich 273 

Old Ipswich Town. — Appleton Morgan 277 

Heartbreak Hill 279 

Newburyport . . . . • 284 

Lord Timothy Dexter 292 

The Old Elm of Newbury .301 

The Prophecy of Samuel Sewall 304 

The Double-Headed Snake 307 

Thomas Macy, the Exile 310 

Telling the Bees 314 



XIV CONTENTS. 

Part lEigbti). 
HAMPTON AND PORTSMOUTH LEGENDS. 

PAGE 

Hampton 319 

Jonathan Moulton and the Devil 322 

Goody Cole 328 

The Wveck oi my ermouth.— J. G. Whittier 329 

Portsmouth 331 

The Stone-throwing Devil 333 

Lady Wentworth 337 



Part Wintf). 

YORK, ISLES-OF-SHOALS, AND BOON-ISLAND 
LEGENDS. 

Isles of Shoals 345 

On Star Island. — Sarah 0. Jewett 348 

A Legend of Blackbeard 350 

The Spanish Wreck 352 

The Spaniards' Graves. — Celia Thaxter 354 

Boon Island 355 

The Watch of Boon Island. — Celia Thaxter 356 

The Grave of Champernowne 357 

Agamenticus (York, Maine) 358 

Mount Agamenticus 359 

Saint Aspenquid. — John Albee 360 



Part Eentb. 
OLD-COLONY LEGENDS. 

Hanging by Proxy 365 

The Old Oaken Bucket. — ^Sam^eMFoof/ifortA 370 

Destruction of Minot's Light 375 

Minot's Ledge. — Fitz-James O'Brien 377 

Legends of Plymouth Rock 378 

Mary Chilton. — George Bancroft Griffith 380 

The Courtship of Myles Staudish 383 

The Pilgrim Fathers. — Percival, Pierpont, Hemans, Sprague . . . 389 



CONTENTS. XV 

fart i£l£&mt]^. 
EHODE-ISLAND LEGENDS. 

PAGE 

The Skeleton in Armor 393 

The Newport Tower. — J. G. Bruinanl, L. H. Sujourney .... 401 

Block Island 403 

The Buccaneer 409 

The Palatine. T. G. Whittier 413 

The Last of the Wampanoags 414 

fart SEtoelftfj. 

CONNECTICUT LEGENDS. 

The Phantom Ship 417 

The Charter Oak 421 

The Charter Oak (/>oe7ft). — L. H. Sigourney 426 

The Place of Noises 427 

Matchit Moodus. — J. G. Brainard 429 

The Spanish Galleon 431 

The Money-Diggers. — J. G. Brainard 435 

The Norwicli Elms. — L. H. Sigourney 436 

Part STi^irtEcntf). 

NANTUCKET AND OTHER LEGENDS. 

Nantucket Legends 441 

The Alarmed Skipper. — James T. Fields 447 

The LTnknown Chainpion 449 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 

Robinson, Stevenson, and Mary 

Dyer going to Execution, Frontispiece 

Vignette, Puritan Hats ... 3 

The Solitary of Shawmut ... 6 

Hanging-Lamp 11 

Site of Mrs. Hutchinson's House 15 

Trial of Mrs. Hutchinson ... 19 

The Death of Rainsborough . . 26 

Night-Watchman 28 

Execution of Mrs. Hibblns . . 32 

The Old Elm 34 

Scourging a Quaker .... 37 

Hand-Reel 42 

Endicott receiving the King's 

Order 48 

Liberty Tree 50 

Ancient Houses, North End . . 58 
Candlestick, Bible, and Spec- 
tacles 62 

Tomb of the Mathers .... 64 

Nix's Mate 66 

The Duel on the Common . . 70 

Old South Church 71 

Christ Church 77 

Boston, from Breed's Hill . . 80 

Sign of the Green Dragon . . 81 

Grenadier, 1775 83 

Revere arousing the Jlinute-Man 86 
Peter Rugg and the Thunder- 
storm 02 

Equestrians 94 

Hackney-Coach 95 

Market-Woman 100 



PAGE 

Boston Truck 103 

Chaise, 1776 107 

The Money-Digger 109 

Old Milestone, Dorchester . . Ill 

Old Fire-Dogs 112 

Vignette, Wine and Hour Glasses 1 15 

The Washington Elm .... 116 

The Eliot Oak, Brighton ... 122 

Milestone, Cambridge .... 124 

Vignette, Symbols of Witchcraft 127 

An Indian Princess 129 

Moll Pitcher 138 

Moll Pitcher's Cottage .... 143 

Egg Rock and the Sea-Serpent . 157 

Forget-me-nots 159 

A Spring Carol 164 

Vignette, The Witches' Ride . 167 

Philip English's House, Salem . 177 

Cutting out the Cross .... 181 

Soldier of 1630 182 

Condemned to be sold .... 184 

The Parsonage, Salem Village . 191 
Staffs used bj' Jacobs when 

going to Execution .... 192 

The Bell from an Old Print . . 199 

Tailpiece 201 

Endicott's Sun-Dial; Designs 

from Old Money 205 

Low's Pirate Flag 212 

Alone on the Desert Island . . 217 

Love at First Sight 222 

Skipper Ireson's Ride .... 229 

Tailpiece . . 233 



XVIU 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 

Vignette, Pewter Dishes . . . 237 

Tlie Magnolia 237 

The Shipwreck 246 

A Sortie upon the Demons . . 255 

Norman's Woe Rock .... 204 

Poor lone Hannah 2G8 

Tailpiece, Bats 2G9 

Vignette, The Cabalistic Nine . 273 

Padlock and Key, Ipswich Jail . 275 

Ipswich Heads 278 

Men of INIark 280 

The Maiden's Watch .... 281 

Beacon, Salisbury Point . . . 285 

Whitefield's Monument ... 290 

Lord Timothy Dexter's Mansion 293 

Warming-Pan 298 

Lord Timothy Dexter .... 299 

The Old Elm of Newbury . . 302 

Ye Double-Headed Snake . . 308 

Escape of Goodman Macy . . 312 

Beehive 315 

Tailpiece 31G 

Vignette, Bats 319 

Boar's Head 319 

.Jonathan Monlton and ye Devil 323 
" I shall ride in my Chariot yet, 

Ma'am!" 340 

Tailpiece, Umbrella 342 

Captain Teach, or Blackbeard . 351 



PAGE 

Vignette, Mayflowers .... 365 

The Old Oaken Bucket ... 372 

The First Minot's Lighthouse . 375 

Mary Chilton's Leap .... 379 

Ancient Gravestone, Burial Hill 381 
Monument over Forefathers' 

Rock, Plymouth 382 

Standish House, Duxbury . . 384 
"Prithee, John, why don't you 

speak for yourself V " . . . 387 
Tailpiece,Candlestick, Bible, and 

Spectacles 390 

Helmets, Puritan Time . . . 393 

Old Windmill, Newport ... 394 

The Skeleton in Armor ... 397 

Ancient Windmill 405 

Lee on the Spectre Horse . . . 411 

Vignette, Hairdresser's Shop . 417 

The Phantom Ship 419 

The Charter Oak 423 

Old Warehouses, New London . 432 
Ancient Mill, New London . . 433 
Vignette, Quaker Heads . . . 441 
Bass Rocks, Gay Head, Cutty- 
hunk 442 

Goffe rallying the Settlers . . 453 
Graves of the Regicides, New 

Haven 456 

Tailpiece, Blacksmith's Arms . 457 



^art f ir^t. 



BOSTON LEGENDS. 




THE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. 



BY J. L. MOTLEY. 
1628. 

A SOLITARY figure sat upon the summit of Shawmut. 
He was a man of about thirty years of age, somewhat 
above the middle height, slender in form, with a pale, thought- 
ful face. He Avore a confused dark-colored, half-canonical dress, 
with a gray broad-leaved hat strung wnth shells, like an ancient 
palmer's, and slouched back from his pensive brow, around 
which his prematurely gray hair fell in heavy curls far down 
upon his neck. He had a wallet at his side, a hammer in his 
girdle, and a long staff in his hand. The hermit of Shawmut 
looked out upon a scene of winning beauty. The promontory 
resembled rather two islands than a peninsula, although it w^as 
anchored to the continent by a long slender thread of land 
which seemed hardly to restrain it from floating out to join its 
sister islands, which Avere thickly strewn about the bay. The 
peak upon which the hermit sat was the highest of the three 
clifts of the peninsula ; upon the southeast, and very near him, 
rose another hill of lesser height and more rounded form ; and 
upon the other side, and toward the north, a third craggy ])eak 
presented its bold and elevated front to the ocean. Thus the 
whole peninsula was made up of three lofty crags. It was from 



4 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

this triple conformation of the promontory of Shawmut that was 
derived the appellation of Trimountain, or Tremont, which it 
soon afterwards received. 

The vast conical shadows were projected eastwardly, as the 
hermit, with his back to the declining sun, looked out upon the 
sea. 

The bay was spread out at his feet in a broad semicircle, with 
its extreme headlands vanishing in the hazy distance, while 
beyond rolled the vast expanse of ocean, with no spot of habi- 
table earth beyond those outermost barriers and that far distant 
fatherland which the exile had left forever. ISTot a solitary sail 
whitened those purple waves, and saving the wing of the sea- 
gull, which now and then flashed in the sunshine or gleamed 
across the dimness of the eastern horizon, the solitude was at the 
moment unbroken by a single movement of animated nature. 
An intense and breathless silence enwrapped the scene with a 
vast and mystic veil. The bay presented a spectacle of great 
beauty. It was not that the outlines of the coast around it were 
broken into those jagged and cloud-like masses, — that pictu- 
resque and startling scenery where precipitous crag, infinite 
abyss, and roaring surge unite to awaken stern and sublime 
emotions ; on the contrary, the gentle loveliness of this trans- 
atlantic scene inspired a soothing melancholy more congenial to 
the contemplative character of its solitary occupant. The bay, 
secluded within its forest- crowned hills, decorated with its neck- 
lace of emerald islands, with its dark-blue waters gilded with 
the rays of the western sun, and its shadowy forests of unknown 
antiquity expanding into infinite depths around, was an image 
of fresh and virgin beauty, a fitting type of a new world un- 
adorned by art, unploughed by industry, unscathed by war, 
wearing none of the thousand priceless jewels of civilization, 
and unpolluted by its thousand crimes, — springing, as it were, 
from the bosom of the ocean, cool, dripping, sparkling, and 
fresh from the hand of its Creator. 

On the left, as the pilgrim sat with his face to the east, the 
outlines of the coast were comparatively low, but broken into 



THE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. 5 

gentle and pleasing forms. Immediately at his feet lay a larger 
island, in extent nearly equal to the peninsula of Shawmut, 
covered with mighty forest-trees, and at that day untenanted 
by a human being, although but a short time afterwards it 
became the residence of a distinguished pioneer. Outside this 
bulwark a chain of thickly wooded islets stretched across from 
shore to shore, with but one or two narrow channels between, 
presenting a picturesque and effectual barrier to the boisterous 
storms of ocean. They seemed like naiads, those islets lifting 
above the billows their gentle heads, crowned with the budding 
garlands of the spring, and circling hand in hand, like protective 
deities, about the scene. 

On the south, beyond the narrow tongue of land which bound 
the peninsula to the main, and which was so slender that the 
spray from the eastern side was often dashed across it into the 
calmer cove of the west, rose in the immediate distance that 
long, boldly broken purple-colored ridge called the Massachu- 
setts, or Mount Arrow Head, by the natives, and by the first 
English discoverer baptized the Cheviot Hills. On their left, 
and within the deep curve of the coast, were the slightly ele- 
vated heights of Passanogessit, or Merry Mount, and on their 
right stretched the broad forest, hill beyond hill, away. Towards 
the west and northwest, the eye wandered over a vast undu- 
lating panorama of gently rolling heights, upon whose summits 
the gigantic pine-forests, with their towering tops piercing the 
clouds, were darkly shadowed upon the Avestern sky, while in 
the dim distance, far above and beyond the whole, visible only 
through a cloudless atmosphere, rose the airy summits of the 
Wachusett, Watatick, and Monadnock IMountains. Upon the 
inland side, at the base of the hill, the Quinobequin Eiver, 
which Smith had already christened with the royal name of 
his unhappy patron, Charles, might be seen writhing in its 
slow and tortuous course, like a wounded serpent, till it lost 
itself in the blue and beautiful cove which spread around the 
Avhole Avestern edge of the peninsula ; and within the same 
basin, directly opposite the northern peak of Shawmut, advanced 



6 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



the bold and craggy promontory of Mishawum, where Walford, 
the solitary smith, had built his thatched and palisaded house. 
The blue thread of the River Mystic, which here mingled its 




THE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. 



waters with the Charles, gleamed for a moment beyond the 
heights of Mishawum, and then vanished into the frowning 
forest. 

Such was the scene, upon a bright afternoon of spring, which 
spread before the eyes of the solitary, William Blaxton, the 



THE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. 7 

hermit of Shawmut. It was a simple but sublime image, that 
gentle exile in his silvan solitude. It was a simple but sub- 
lime thought, which placed him and sustained him in his lone 
retreat. In all ages there seem to exist men who have no 
appointed place in the world. They are before their age in 
their aspirations, above it in their contemplation, but behind 
it in their capacity for action. Keen to detect the follies and 
the inconsistencies which surround them, shrinking from the 
contact and the friction of the rough and boisterous world 
without, and building within the solitude of their meditations 
the airy fabric of a regenerated and purified existence, they pass 
their nights in unproductive study, and their days in dreams. 
With intelligence bright and copious enough to illuminate and 
to warm the chill atmosphere of the surrounding world, if the 
scattered rays were concentrated, but with an inability or dis- 
inclination to impress themselves upon other minds, they pass 
their lives without obtaining a result, and their characters, 
dwarfed by their distance from the actual universe, acquire an 
apparent indistinctness and feebleness which in reality does not 
belong to them. 

The impending revolution in Church and State which hung 
like a gathering thunder-cloud above England's devoted head, 
was exciting to the stronger spirits, whether of mischief or of 
virtue, who rejoiced to mingle in the elemental war and to 
plunge into the rolling surge of the world's events ; while to 
the timid, the hesitating, and the languid, it rose like a dark 
and threatening phantom, scaring them into solitude, or urging 
them to seek repose and safety in obscurity. Thus there may 
be men whose spirits are in advance of their age, while still the 
current of the world flows rapidly past them. 

Of such men, and of such instincts, was the solitary who 
sat on the clifls of Shawmut. Forswearing the country of 
his birth and early manhood, where there seemed, in the 
present state of her aff"airs, no possibility that minds like his 
could develop or sustain themselves, — dropping, as it were, 
like a premature and unripened fruit from the bough where 



8 NEW-KNGLANI) LEGENDS. 

its blossoms had iirst uufoldcnl, — ho had wandered into vol- 
untary exile with hardly a regret. Debarred from ministering 
at the altar to which he had consecrated his youth, because 
unable to comply with mummery at wliich his soul revolted, 
he had become a high priest of nature, and had reared a pure 
and solitary altar in the wihlerness. He had dwelt in this 
solitude for three or four years, and had found in the con- 
templation of nature, in the liberty of conscience, in solitary 
study and self-comnuining, a solace for the ills he had suffered, 
and a recompense for the world he had turned his back upon 
forever. 

His si)irit was a proi)hetic spirit, and his virtues belonged not 
to his times. In an age which regarded toleration as a crime, 
he had the courage to cultivate it as a virtue. In an age in 
which liberty of conscience was considered fearful licentious- 
ness, he left his fatherland to obtain it, and was as ready to 
rel)uke the intolerant tyranny of the nonconformist of the wil- 
derness, as he had been to resist the bigotry and persecution 
of the prelacy at home. In short, the soul of the gentle her- 
mit flew upon pure white wings before its age, but .it flew, 
like the dove, to the wilderness. Wanting both power and 
inclination to act upon others, ho became not a reformer, but 
a recluse. Having enjoyed and improved a classical education 
at the University of Cambridge, he was a thorough and an 
elegant scholar. He was likewise a profound observer, and a 
student of nature in all her external manifestations, and loved 
to theorize and to dream in the various walks of science. The 
botanical and mineralogical wonders of the New World were 
to him the objects of unceasing specvdation, and he loved to 
proceed from the known to the unknown, and to weave tine 
chains of thought, which to his soaring fancy served to l)ind 
the actual to the imseen and the spiritual, and upon which, 
as upon the celestial ladder in the patriarch's vision, he could 
dream that the angels of the Lord were descending to earth 
from heaven. 

The day was fast declining as the solitary still sat iipon the 



THE SOLITARY OF SHAWMUT. 9 

peak and mused. He arose as the sun was sinking below the 
forest-crowned hills which girt his silvan hermitage, and gazed 
steadfastly towards the west. 

"Another day," he said, "hath shone upon my lonely path; 
another day hath joined the buried ages which have folded their 
wings beneath yon glowing west, leaving in their noiseless flight 
across this virgin world no trace nor relic of their passage. 'T is 
strange, 'tis fearful, this eternal and unbroken silence. Upon 
what fitful and checkered scenes hath yonder sun looked down 
in other lauds, even in the course of this single day's career ! 
Events as thickly studded as the stars of heaven have clustered 
and shone forth beneath his rays, even as his glowing chariot- 
wheels performed their daily course ; and here, in this mysterious 
and speechless world, as if a spell of enchantment lay upon it, 
the sQence is unbroken, the whole face of nature stUl dewy and 
fresh. The step of civilization hath not adorned nor polluted the 
surface of this wilderness. Xo stately temples gleam in yonder 
valleys, no storied monument nor aspiring shaft pierces yonder 
floating clouds ; no mighty cities, swarming with life, filled to 
bursting with the ten thousand attendants of civilized humanity, 
luxury and Avant, pampered sloth, struggling industry, disease, 
crime, riot, pestilence, death, all hotly pent within their narrow 
precincts, encumber yon sweeping plains ; no peaceful villages, 
clinging to ancient, ivy-mantled churches ; no teeming fields, 
spreading their vast and nourishing bosoms to the toUing thou- 
sands, meet this wandering gaze. No cheerful chime of vesper- 
bell, no peaceful low of the returning kine, no watch-dog's bark, 
no merry shout of children's innocent voices, no floating music 
from the shepherd's pipe, no old famUiar sounds of humanity, 
break on this listening ear. No snowy sail shines on yon eternal 
ocean, its blue expanse unruffled and unmarred as the azure 
heaven ; and ah ! no crimson banners flout the sky, and no 
embattled hosts shake with their martial tread this silent earth. 
'T is silence and mystery all. Shall it be ever thus ] Shall this 
green and beautiful world, which so long hath slept invisibly 
at the side of its ancient sister, still weave its virgin wreath 



10 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

uusoiled by passion and pollution'? Shall this new, vast page 
in the broad hiatory of man remain unsullied, or shall it soon 
flutter in the storm-winds of fate, and be stamped with the same 
iron record, the same dreary catalogue of misery and crime, wliich 
tills the chronicle of the elder world ? 'T is passing strange, this 
sudden apocalypse ! Lo ! is it not as if the universe, the narrow 
universe which bounded men's thoughts in ages past, had swung 
open, as if by an almighty hat, and spread wide its eastern and 
western wings at once, to shelter the myriads of the human 
race]" 

The hermit arose, slowly collected a few simples which he 
had culled from the wilderness, a few roots of early spring 
flowers which he destined for his garden, and stored them in 
his wallet, and then, grasping his long staff, began slowly to 
descend the hill. 



BOSTON COMMON, — FIRST PICTURE. 

BY O. W. HOLMES. 

[The first of the poet Holmes's "Three Pictures" depicts tlie same person 
and scene that we have considered the most fitting introduction to our Legends, 
— the solitary inhabitant and the solitude that his presence rendered still more 
lonely. But preferring this to the comjianionship of the "Lord's brethren," 
as he is said to have called the Puritan settlers of Boston, Blackstone removed 
into the heart of the outlying wilderness, where savages were his only neigh- 
bors. Here he died. The spot where his lonely cottage stood in Shawmut, 
and the place where he is buried, are equally unknown.] 

All overgrown with bush and fern. 

And straggling clumps of tangled trees, 
With trunks that lean and boughs that turn, 

Bent eastward by the mastering breeze, — 
With spongy bogs that drij) and fill 

A yellow pond with muddy rain. 
Beneath the shaggy southern hill, 

Lies, wet and low, the Shawmut plain. 



MISTEESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 



11 



And hark ! the trodden branches crack ; 

A crow flaps off with startled scream ; 
A straying woodchuck canters back ; 

A bittern rises from the stream ; 
Leaps from his lair a frightened deer ; 

An otter plunges in the pool ; — 
Here comes old Shawmut's pioneer, 

The parson on his brindled bull ! 



MISTRESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 

1634. 

THE biographies of Mrs. Anne Hutchinson have, so to 
speak, been written by her enemies. Modern authors, in 
writing of her, have rehearsed her story from the point of 
view of the seventeenth century, and 
we live in the nineteenth. But History 
accepts no verdict that is not founded 
in impartial justice, and impartial justice 
was the one thing that Anne Hutchinson 
could expect neither from her accusers 
nor her judges. All the errors imputed 
to her — and they were sufhciently venial 
of themselves — mere quibbles, in fact — 
might and should, we think, have been 
settled within the church of which she 
was a member; but the voice of the 
community in which she lived, which 
knew and respected her most for her 
Christian virtues and her shining talents, 
was silenced in the general outcry raised 
from without, "Crucify her, crucify her!" 
and, weakly yielding to it, the civil arm 
struck her down as relentlessly ^s it would have done the worst 




LAMP. 



12 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

of criminals or the most dangerous enemy to public order. Mrs. 
Hutchinson was driven with ignominy from her home into exile, 
for maintaining in her own house that a mere profession of faith 
could not evidence salvation unless the Spirit hrst revealed itself 
from within. Her appeal is to be heard. It is too late to blot 
out the record, but there is yet time to. reverse the attainder. 

We begin our sketch with a simple introduction. 

Anne Marbury was a daughter of Francis Marbury, who was 
first a minister in Lincolnshire, and afterwards in London. This 
fact should be borne in mind when following her after career. 
She was the daughter of a scholar and a theologian. iSTaturally, 
therefore, much of her unmarried as well as her married life had 
been passed in the society of ministers, whom she learned to 
esteem more for what they knew than for what they preached. 
The same fact, too, her intellectual gifts being considered, reason- 
ably accounts for her pondering deeply the truths of Christian- 
ity and her fondness for theological discussion both for its own 
sake and as involving the great problem of her own life. It 
Avas the atmosphere in which she had lived and moved and had 
her being. It aroused and quickened her intellectual faculties 
and perceptions. She lived, too, in a time of great religious 
excitement, soon to become one of active warfare, the period of 
the great Puritan revolt, so that it is easily seen how that 
movement, which had enlisted some of the noblest women in 
England, should absorb such ai4one as Anne, who was intel- 
lectually an enthusiast and morally an agitator, who had been 
accustomed to breathe the atmosphere of adulation, and who 
was ambitious, capable, and adroit. While still young, she mar- 
ried William Hutchinson, a country gentleman of good character 
and estate, also of Lincolnshire. "We know very little of him, 
and that little comes from Winthrop, the bitter enemy and per- 
secutor of his wife, who indeed speaks of the husband in terms 
approaching contempt. But this is also an unconscious tribute 
to the superior talents of Anne. Were it all true, we simply 
discover once more the mutual yet unaccountable sympathy 
existing between a strong woman and a weak man which it is 



MISTEESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 13 

the custom of the world to satirize or to sneer at. There is, 
however, little doubt that the attachment of one for the other 
was mutually lasting and sincere, in spite of the sore trials to 
which their married life Avas exposed. But allowing that he 
was eclipsed by the superior brilliancy of his wife, there is quite 
enough evidence to prove that William Hutchinson was a man 
of sterling character and worth. He played a secondary, but no 
ignoble, part in the events we have to narrate. 

It happened that the Hutchinsons were parishioners of the 
Rev. John Cotton when that celebrated divine was minister of 
the Church of Boston, in Lincolnshire. For liim and his abili- 
ties Mrs. Hutchinson had the highest respect and esteem. And 
when Cotton fled to New England, as he like so many others 
was at length compelled to do, in order to escape from the 
tyranny of the bishops, the Hutchinsons also resolved to emi- 
grate thither, and presently the whole family did so. It is 
proper to be mentioned here that Mrs. Hutchinson's daughter 
had married the Eev. John Wheelwright, another minister of 
Lincolnshire, who was also deprived for nonconformity, and 
who also came to New England in consequence of the perse- 
cutions of Archbishop Laud. 

The long interval that elapsed between the date of her mar- 
riage and that of her removal to America is very imperfectly 
filled out in the notices we have of Mrs. Hutchinson's life. We 
are not made acquainted with any of those formative processes 
by which she became so well equipped for the mental and spirit- 
ual conflict that she was soon to enter upon with an adversary 
who could neither learn nor forget. A family had now grown 
np around her. Besides the daughter, the Mrs. Wheelwright 
already mentioned, there were three sons ; so that it was no 
young, sentimental, or unbalanced novice, but a middle-aged, 
matured, and experienced woman of the world who embarked 
in the autumn of 1634 for New England, looking eagerly there 
to obtain and enjoy liberty of conscience among those who 
might be supposed, if any people on the earth could, to know 
its value. 



14 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

During the voyage she entered into discussions with some 
Puritan ministers who were also going out to New England, 
upon such abstruse points as Avhat were the evidences of justi- 
fication, and she broadly hinted that when they should arrive 
at their destination they might expect to hear more from her. 
From these things, trivial in themselves, it is clear that Mrs. 
Hutchinson considered herself to have a mission to deliver to- 
the people and churches of New England. She avowed her 
entire belief in direct revelations made to the elect, moreover 
declaring that never had anything of importance happened to 
her which had not been revealed to her beforehand. 

The vessel made her port on the 18th of September, 1634. 
Its appearance Avas so mean and so uninviting, that one of her 
fellow passengers, supposing it to have depressed her spirits, 
commented upon it, in order, as it appeared, to draAV her out. 
But she denied that the meanness of the place had in any way 
afiected her, because, as she said, " she knew that the bounds- 
of her habitation were already determined." 

Upon their arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson made their 
application to be received as members of the church. This 
step was indispensable to admit them into Christian fellowship 
and him to the privileges of a citizen. He was admitted in Octo- 
ber, but in consequence of the reports already spread concerning 
her extravagant opinions, Mrs. Hutchinson was subjected to a 
searching examination before her request was granted. She, 
however, passed through the ordeal safely, the examining min- 
isters, one of whom was her old and beloved pastor, Mr. Cotton, 
declaring themselves satisfied with her ansAvers. She entered 
the Boston church in November. 

For some time onward Ave hear very little of Mrs. Hutchinson, 
except that she Avas treated with particular respect and attention 
by Mr. Cotton and others. The getting settled in a ncAv home 
probably occupied her to the exclusion of everything else. Her 
husband took a hoxise in Boston, and being duly admitted a 
freeman of the Colony, he was immediately called upon to bear 
his part in business of public concern, which he did Avillingly 



MISTEESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 



15 



and faithfully. He received a grant of lands in Braintree from 
the General Court. He Avas elected to, and served for several 
terms as a deputy in, this body, it being, singularly enough, his 
fortune to sit as a member when Roger Williams was brought 
to the bar, tried for his heretical opinions, and banished by it 
out of the Colony. 

The year 1C36 was destined to witness one of the greatest 
religious commotions that have ever puzzled the unlearned or seri- 
ously called in question the wisdom of the founders of the Colony. 
The more it is studied the more inexplicable it appears. 




SITE OP MRS. HUTCHINSON S HOUSE. 



A young man of liberal views, who had not been hardened 
by persecution, was then governor of the Colony, and, for the 
moment, the popular idol. This was Harry Vane, who after- 
wards died on the scaffold. He with Mr. Cotton took much 
notice of Mrs. Hutchinson, and their example was quickly fol- 
lowed by the leading and influential people of the town, who 
treated her with much consideration and respect. Already her 
benevolence toward the suffering or the needy had won for her 



16 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

many friends, while her intrepidity of soul and her capacity 
for dealing with those interesting questions from the discussion 
of which tliey were excluded, led many of her own sex to look 
up to her not only as a person whose opinions were worth 
regarding, but also with admiration amounting to homage. 

Adopting an established custom of the town, Mrs. Hutchinson 
held in hen' own house two weekly meetings, — one for men and 
women, and one exclusively for women, — at which she was the 
oracle. These meetings were for no other purpose than to hear 
read and to discuss the sermons of the previous Sabbath, and 
for general religious conversation and edification. They were 
what would be called in our own day a club. The bringing 
women together in any way for independent thought and action 
was a most bold and novel innovation, requiring much moral 
courage on the part of the mover. Her manner and address, 
her ready wit, her thorough mastery of her subject, the strong 
purpose she displayed, established her ascendency in these dis- 
cussions, and were fast gaining for her a popularity that, spread- 
ing from her house as a centre, alarmed the ministers for their 
own hold upon the public mind, and so determined them to 
call her and her doctrines seriously to account. 

That Mrs. Hutchinson's conversations were not at first con- 
sidered to be dangerous either in themselves or in their effects, 
is clear from the fact that the most eminent ministers and 
magistrates, attracted by her fame, came from all quarters to 
hear and dispute with her. Such was her ready command of 
Scripture authorities and her skill in using all the weapons of 
argument, that the strongest heads in the colony found, them- 
selves unable to cope with her successfully upon her chosen 
ground. She was impassioned, she was adroit ; she was an 
enthusiast, and yet she was subtle, logical, and deep : she was 
a woman who believed herself inspired to do a certain work, 
and who had the courage of her convictions. Could any other 
have brought such men as Cotton, Vane, Wheelwright, Codding- 
ton, completely to embrace her views, or have sent one like 
Winthrop to his closet, wrestling with himself, yet more than 



MISTEESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 17 

half persuaded 1 To call sucli a woman an adventuress, a ter- 
magant, or a "Jezebel," is a grave reflection upon the under- 
standing of some of the best minds in the Colony. 

Anne Hutchinson's doctrines were, in plain English, these : 
She held and advocated as the highest truth that a person could 
be justified only by an actual and manifest revelation of the 
spirit to him personally. There could be, she said, no other 
evidence of grace. She repudiated a doctrine of works, and 
she denied that hoHness of living alone could be received as 
evidence of regeneration, since hypocrites might live outwardly 
as pure lives as the saints do. The Puritan churches held that 
sanetification by the will was evidence of justification. 

For a time people of every condition were drawn into the 
dispute about these subtleties. The Boston church divided upon 
it, the greater number, however, siding with ]\Ir. Cotton, whose 
views were understood to agree with those maintained by Mrs. 
Hutchinson. From Boston it rapidly spread into the country, 
but there, removed from the potent personal magnetism of Mrs. 
Hutchinson, the clergy were better able to withstand the move- 
ment that it may be truly said had carried Boston by storm. 

In announcing these opinions of hers, Mrs. Hutchinson freely 
criticised those ministers who preached a covenant of works. 
This embittered them toward her. Emboldened by the in- 
creasing number of her followers, she became more and more 
aggressive, so that the number of her enemies was increasing in 
proportion to that of her proselytes. The breach that coolness 
and moderation might easily have bridged soon widened into 
a gulf that could not be crossed. Unsuspicious of any danger, 
or that what was said in the privacy of her own house was 
being carefullj' treasured up against her, poor Mrs. Hutchinson 
was led into speaking her mind more freely as to doctrines and 
persons than was consistent with prudence or foresight, so that 
before she Avas aware of it what had so far been a harmless war 
of words, now becoming an unreconcilable feud, burst forth into 
a war of factions. Events then marched rapidly on. 

Governor Winthrop and Mr. Wilson, the pastor of the church, 

2 



18 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

led the opposition in Eoston. The matter was first brought 
before the General Court upon a sermon preached by Mr. Wheel- 
wright, and in this body the country was able to make head 
against the town. A personal struggle ensued between Winthrop 
and Vane, in which the former was victorious. Vane then left 
the country in disgust. 

The party having as it Avere lost its head, made no difference 
with Mrs. Hutchinson. She continued her lectures, undisturbed 
by the signs of the approaching storm, until all the churches 
could be summoned to a general synod, which assembled in great 
solemnity at Cambridge, to sit in judgment upon the new and 
startling Familistic doctrines. This was the first synod held in 
the western hemisphere. Its deliberations were preceded by 
a day of fasting and prayer throughout the Colony. What it 
decreed would be sustained by the civil power. 

The convocation was a stormy one. Three weeks were spent 
in discussing the errors that were formulated in the indictment 
presented to it. Perceiving the drift toward persecution, some 
of the members for Boston withdrew in disgust. The Synod 
finished by condemning as heresies all of the eighty odd points 
covering the new opinions, thus bringing them within the pale 
' of the lav\% Mr. Cotton was either too weak or too politic to 
withstand the pressure brought to bear upon him, and he gave 
a qualified adhesion to the proceedings. 

Being thus backed by the whole spiritual power of the Colony, 
the "Winthrop party no longer hesitated to use severe measures. 
Mr. Wheelwright was first called before the Court, to be sum- 
marily sentenced to disfranchisement and banishment. No 
one pretends that he was not an able, pure, and upright man. 
Others of Mrs. Hutchinson's adherents received various sen- 
tences. Then the priestess and prophetess herself was arraigned 
at the bar as a criminal of the most dangerous kind. 

The proceedings at this trial are preserved in the " History of 
Massachusetts under the Colony and Province," of which Gov- 
ernor Hutchinson, the descendant of the persecuted Anne, is the 
author. They are voluminous. Winthrop, who presided, first 



MISTRESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 



19 



catechised her. She answered him boldly, hut with dignity. 
Then Bradstreet, and then Dudley, the deputy-governor, took 
turns in trying to extort from her some damaging admission. 




Neither succeeded. Governor 
Winthrop allows as much when 
using this extraordinary lan- 
guage toward the prisoner who 
is defending herself single- 
handed against a multitude of 
prosecutors : 

"It is well discerned to the 
Court that Mrs. Hutchinson can 
tell when to speak and when to hold her tongue. Upon the 



20 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

answering of a question which we desire her to tell her thoughts 
of, she desires to be pardoned." 

Anne Hutchinson did not fall into the snare. She replied : 
" It is one thing for me to come before a public magistracy and 
there to speak what they would have me to speak, and another 
when a man comes to me in a way of friendship, privately ; 
there is difference in that." 

Six of the foremost ministers in the (Jolony, among whom 
were the Apostle Eliot and the subsequently famous Hugh 
Peters, then gave evidence that she had told them they Avere 
not able ministers of the New Testament, and that they preached 
a covenant of works. Only Mr. Shepard, of the Cambridge 
church, spoke of her considerately ; the rest liad steeled them- 
selves against her. 

Mrs. Hutchinson gave a plump denial to some things that 
these ministers had alleged, and then she prudently asked that 
they might be recjuired to give their evidence under oath, in 
a case touching her personal liberty as this did. To this the 
Governor strongly demurred ; but Mrs. Hutchinson stoutly main- 
taining her riglit, she finally prevailed. From a score or more 
of accusers, the number of ministers who were willing to swear 
was thus reduced to three. 

The only persons who spoke for her were silenced by being 
browbeaten. Her fate was determined when the Court assem- 
bled. Mr. Cotton defended her weakly and equivocally. Mr. 
Coddington most valiantly, but to as little purpose. Seeing 
how the case was going against her, he spoke up hotly wliile 
smarting under a rebuke just administered by the President : 

" I beseech you do not speak so to force things along, for I 
do not, for my own part, see any equity in all your proceedings. 
Here is no law of God that she hath broken, nor any law of the 
country, and therefore deserves no censure. And if she say that 
the elders preach as the apostles did (before the Ascension), why 
they preached a covenant of grace, and what wrong is that to 
them 1 " 

Governor Winthrop then pronounced sentence of banishment 



MISTRESS ANNE HUTCHINSON. 21 

against the woman who, as Coddington truly said, " had broken 
no law either of Cod or of man." 

This mockery of a trial, in which the judges expounded 
theology instead of law, and in which no rule of evidence was 
respected until the prosecutors were shamed into allowing the 
prisoner's demand that her accusers should be sworn, was now 
ended. Pending the further order of the Court, Mrs. Hutchin- 
son was delivered into the custody of Mr. Joseph Weld, of 
Roxbury. She had still another, probably a harder, trial to go 
through with, when the Boston church of which she was a 
member, and which had so lately applauded and caressed her, 
sat in judgment upon her and excommunicated her. Her hus- 
band then sold all his property, and removed with his family 
to the Island of Aquidneck, as did many others whose opinions 
had brought them under the censure of the governing powers. 
Mr. Hutchinson nobly stood by his wife to the last. When a 
committee of the Boston church Avent to Rhode Island for the 
purpose of endeavoring to bring these lost sheep back into the 
fold, he told them that he accounted his Avife "a dear saint 
and servant of God." 

The triumphant opposition noAv carried matters Avitli a heavy 
hand. Winthrop strenuously exerted himself to crush Mrs. 
Hutchinson's folloAvers. In consecpience of this a great number 
of the principal inhabitants of Boston who had become involved 
in these troubles, and who were noAv deprived of their political 
privileges as a punishment therefor, also removed to Rhode 
Island. Of these Coddington and Dummer had been assist- 
ants or counsellors ; Hutchinson, Coggeshall, and Aspinwall were 
representatives. Rainsford, Sanford, Savage, Eliot, Easton, Ben- 
dall, and Denison, were all persons pf distinction. About sixty 
others were disarmed. These exiles, having purchased the island 
of the Indians, were the first to found a civil government there. 
And thus did the stone which the builders rejected become the 
head of the corner. 

The rest of Mrs. Hutchinson's history is briefly told. After 
the death of her husband, which happened five years later, she 



22 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

again removed with her family into the Dutch territory of New 
Netherlands, settling near what is now New Eochelle. During 
the following year her house was suddenly assaulted by hostile 
Indians, who, in their revengeful fury, murdered the whole 
family, excepting only one daughter, who was carried away into 
captivity. 

Mrs. Hutchinson's offence consisted in using the great intel- 
lectual powers with which she was undeniably gifted for solving 
the jjroblem of her own life. Her enemies vanquished, but they 
could not convince, her. It is not denied that she Avas a pure 
woman, an affectionate wife and mother, to the poor a bene- 
factor, and to her convictions of Christian duty conscientious 
and faithful to the last. To succeeding generations she is an 
amazing example of the intolerance existing in her day. 



THE DEATH OF RAINSBOROUGH. 

1648. 

THE civil wars in England preceding the dethronement and 
death of Charles I. opened an alluring field for reaping 
individual renown which many adventurous New Englanders 
hastened to enter. It was there in New England, if anywhere, 
that the revolt against the crushing tyranny from which thou- 
sands had fled should find its legitimate echo. Moreover, an 
appeal to arms had become the dream of many of the enthusias- 
tic young men of this martial age. No sooner, therefore, had the 
sword been drawn, than these men of New England, taking 
their Geneva Bibles and their Spanish rapiers in their hands, 
enrolled themselves under the banners of the Parliament, and 
some of them carved with their good blades an enduring record 
upon the history of the time. 

Foremost among these volunteers for the Puritan cause was 
William Rainsborough, who lived here in 1639, and was, with 



THE DEATH OF RAINSBOEOUGH. 23 

Eobert Sedgwick and Israel Stoughton, then a member of the 
Honorable Artillery Company of Boston. Rainsborough had 
speedily risen to be colonel of a regiment in the Parliamentary 
army, in which this Stoughton was lieutenant-colonel, ISTehemiah 
Bourne, a Boston shipwright, major, and John Leverett, after- 
wards governor, a captain ; William Hudson, supposed to be 
also of Boston, was ensign. A son of Governor Winthrop also 
served Avitli credit in these -same wars, and in New England 
the having furnished one of Oliver's soldiers was long one of 
the most valued of family traditions. 

Raiusborough owed his rapid advancement to the distinguished 
gallantry that he displayed in the field, as well as to his zeal 
for the cause, both of which qualifications, so essential in the 
Puritan soldier, earned for him the warm friendship of Crom- 
well, with whom he was thoroughly one in spirit. Indeed he 
appears to have held political sentiments quite as advanced as 
those of his great leader. We find him sustaining positions of 
high trust both in camp and council, always with ability, and 
always with credit to himself and his patron. 

In the memorable storming of Bristol, then held by Prince 
Rupert, Rainsborough commanded a brigade which was posted 
in front of the strongest part of the enemy's line of defence. 
The duty of assaulting this position fell to him. Cromwell tells 
how it was performed, in an official letter written from Bristol 
immediately after the surrender of the place. 

"Colonel Rainsborough's post was near to Durham Down, 
whereof the dragoons and three regiments of horse made good a 
post upon the Down, between him and the River Avon, on his 
right hand. And from Colonel Rainsborough's quarters to 
P'room River, on his left, a part of Colonel Birch's and the 
whole of General Skippon's regiment Avere to maintain that 
post." 

The signal for storming being given, the Parliamentary 
troops advanced with great resolution against the enemy's whole 
line, and were suddenly in possession of the greater portion 
of it. 



24 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

"During this," says the General, "Colonel Eainsborough and 
Colonel Hammond attempted Pryor's Hill Fort and the line 
downward towards Froom; and the major-general's regiment 
being to storm towards Froom Eiver, Colonel Hammond pos- 
sessed the line immediately, and beating the enemy from it, 
made way for the horse to enter. Colonel Eainsborough, who 
had the hardest task of all at Pryor's Hill Fort, attempted it, 
and fought near three hours for it. And indeed tliere was great 
despair of carrying the place, it being exceedingly high, a ladder 
of thirty rounds scarcely reaching the top thereof; but his reso- 
lution was such that, notwithstanding the inaccessibleness and 
difficulty, he would not give it over. The enemy had four 
pieces of cannon upon it, which they plied with round and case 
shot upon our men ; his lieutenant. Colonel Boweu (Bourne), 
and others were two hours at push of pike, standing upon the 
palisades, but could not enter. But now Colonel Hammond 
being entered the line ... by means of this entrance of Colonel 
Hammond, they did storm the fort on that part which was 
inward ; and so Colonel Eainsborough's and Colonel Hammond's 
men entered the fort, and immediately put almost all the men 
in it to the sword." 

For his resolute bravery on this occasion Eainsborough was 
one of the officers deputed by Fairfax to receive the surrender 
of the place. 

Eainsborough subsequently acted as one of the commissioners 
from the Army, Avith Treton and Hammond, to treat witli the 
King, and he was also one of the officers who stirred up in the 
Army that spirit of discontent with the half measures of Parlia- 
ment which, bursting out into open revolt, paved the way to its 
final and humiliating downfall. 

When the insurrection immediately preceding the second 
civil war broke out, Eainsborough was in command and on 
board of the English fleet, and he is then called Admiral 
Eainsborough. It is well known that the sailors embraced, 
almost to a man, the Eoyalist side. They put their Admiral on 
shore, and then hoisted sail for Holland and the young Prince 



THE DEATH OF KAINSBOROUGH. 25 

of Wales. Rainsborough then went up to London, presently 
receiving orders to go upon his last service, into Yorkshire. 

It was in the year 1648 that the Yorkshire Royalists, who 
had been living in quiet since the first war, were again excited 
by intelligence of Duke Hamilton's intended invasion. A plan 
was laid and successfully carried out by them to surprise Pom- 
fret Castle (sometimes called Pontefract), the greatest and 
strongest castle in all England, then held by Colonel Cotterel as 
governor for the Parliament. It was then victualled to with- 
stand a long siege. The Castle was soon besieged by Sir Edward 
Ilhodes and Sir Henry Cholmondley with five thousand regular 
troops, but the royal garrison stubbornly held out for the 
King. 

It being likely to prove a tedious affair, General Rainsborough 
was sent from London by the Parliament to put a speedy end 
to it. He pitched his headquarters for the moment at Don- 
caster, twelve miles from Pomfret, Avith twelve hundred foot 
and two regiments of horse. 

The Castle garrison having in some way learned of Hamilton's 
disastrous defeat at Preston, that he was in full retreat for Scot- 
land, and that Sir Marmaduke Langdale, who commanded the 
English in that battle, was a prisoner, formed the bold design 
of seizing General Rainsborough in his camp and holding him 
as a hostage for Sir Marmaduke; for it was clear enough that the 
principal actors in this unlucky rising would now be in great 
peril of losing their heads on the charge of high treason. The 
scheme seemed all the more feasible because the General and 
his men were under no apprehension of any surprise ; the Castle 
being twelve miles distant, closely besieged, and being moreover 
now the only garrison held for the King in all England. 

The plan was shrewdly laid, favored by circumstances, and 
was completely successful, except that instead of bringing the 
General off as a prisoner, they killed him. With twenty-two 
picked men, all bold riders and well mounted, Captain William 
Paulden penetrated through the besiegers' lines into Doncaster 
undiscovered. Tlie guards were immediately assaulted and 



THE DEATH OF RAINSBOROUGH. 27 

dispersed, while a party of four troopers made direct for the 
General's lodgings. At the door they were met by his lieutenant, 
who, upon their announcing that they had come with despatches 
from General Cromwell, conducted them to the chamber where 
Rainsborough was in bed. While the General was opening 
the false despatch, which contained nothing but blank paper, 
the King's men told him that he was their prisoner, but that 
not a hair of his head should be touched if he went quietly 
along with them. They then disarmed his lieutenant, who had 
so innocently facilitated their design, and brought both the 
General and hira out of the house. A horse stood ready saddled, 
which Eainsborough was directed to mount. He at first seemed 
willing to do so, and put his foot in the stirrup ; but upon look- 
ing about him and seeing only four enemies, while his lieutenant 
and a sentinel (whom they had not disarmed) were standing by 
him, he suddenly pulled his foot out of the stirrup and cried 
out, " Arms I Arms ! " 

Upon this, one of his enemies, letting fall his sword and pis- 
tol, — for the object was to take the General alive, — caught 
hold of liainsborough, who grappled fiercely with hira, and both 
fell struggling to the ground. The General's lieutenant then 
picked up the trooper's pistol, but was instantly run through 
the body by Paulden's lieutenant while he was in the act of 
cocking it. A third then stabbed Eainsborough in the neck ; 
yet the General gained his feet with the trooper's sword, with 
Avhom he had been struggling, in his hand. Seeing him deter- 
mined to die rather than be taken, the lieutenant of the party 
then passed his sword through his body, when the brave but 
ill-fated Rainsborough fell dead upon the pavement of the 
courtyard. 



28 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



THE CASE OF MISTRESS ANN HIBBINS. 



1656. 



" rinHE devil is in it ! " Is not this pithy expression, we in- 
-L quire, a surviving memento of the dark day of super- 
stition, when everything that was strange or inexplicable was by 
common consent referred to the devices of the Evil One 1 

It would be both interesting and instructive further to ask 
if there are still people who regard 
spilling the salt, beginning a journey 
on Friday, breaking a looking-glass, or 
sitting with thirteen at the table, as 
things of evil omen, to be scrupulously 
avoided ; or whether they wonld be 
willing to admit that hanging a charm 
about a cliild's neck, setting a hen on 
an odd number of eggs, putting trust 
:n a rusty horseshoe, or seeing the 
moon over a particular shoulder, — 
to say nothing of dreams, signs, or 
haunted houses, — are neither more 
nor less than so many indications of 
the proneness of our nature to admit 
the supernatural. Kor is it so long 
ago since people were living in the 
rural towns of NeAv England who could remember reputed 
witches, and what dread they inspired in the minds of the 
ignorant or the timid. Upon looking back over the ground 
that the enlightenment of the age has conquered, one is half 
inclined to say that, in some form or other, superstition will be 
about the last thing eradicated from the human mind. It is in 
order to enable the reader fairly to make the comparison of his 




NIGHT WATCHMAN. 



MRS. ANN HIBBINS. 29 

own with a remote time that we offer him these hints before 
beginning our story about Mrs. Hibbins. 

The little that can be recovered concerning this most unfor- 
tunate woman, of whom we would gladly know more than we 
do, puts any connected account of her out of the question. 
Our curiosity is strongly piqued, only to be unsatisfied at last 
by a perusal of the few meagre scraps that have the seal of 
authenticity upon them. Xor is it at all probable that it ever 
will be satisfied. 

We simply know that Mrs. Ann Hibbins, the aged widow of 
a merchant of note, the reputed sister of the Deputy-Governor 
of the Colony, was tried, convicted, and suftered death at Boston 
in the year 1656 for being a witch. This relationship by blood 
and marriage announces a person of superior condition in life, 
and not some Avretched and friendless hag such as is associated 
with the popular idea of a witch. It supposes her to have had 
connections powerful enough to protect her in such an extremity 
as that of life or death in which she was placed. But in her 
case it is clear that they were powerless to stay the final execu- 
tion of the horrid sentence, which was carried into effect, with 
all its revolting details, according to the decree of the Court. 

To be censorious is easy here. Such a tale of horror is in 
fact a shock to all our preconceived notions of the solid wis- 
dom and well-balanced judgments characterizing our ancient 
lawgivers. Still, when kings wrote learned treatises, ministers 
preached, and poets rhymed about it, — when the penal statutes 
of all civilized States recognized and punished it as a crime, — • 
people of every condition may Avell be pardoned for putting fidl 
faith in witchcraft as a thing belonging to the category of in- 
contestable facts, admitted by the wisest and holiest men, and 
punished as such by the ordinances of God and man. What is the 
wonder, then, that they dealt Avith it as a fact 1 For our own 
part, in order that we may understand this deplorable tragedy, 
and that full justice may be done to the actors therein, it is 
indispensable first candidly to admit all that this strange be- 
lief in witchcraft implied from tlieir point of view. We may 



30 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

lament their ignorance, but we should be slow to condemn them 
for being no wiser than their own generation. 

Such a state of things being imagined, one easily sees why 
the men who were wisest and strongest in every other emer- 
gency simply lost their heads when confronting this terrible 
bugbear that kept the imagination continually upon tlie stretch, 
that was a lurking terror in every household, and that by expos- 
ing them, as thoy fully believed, to all the crafts and assaults of 
the Devil (their own friends and neighbors being the instru- 
ments), held their intellect in abject bondage. Against such 
insidious attacks as these there was no good defence. Hence 
the notion of a witch was like that of a serpent in the house 
whose sting is mortal. jS'o wonder it was the one thing capable 
of chasing tlie color 

From cheeks that never changed in woe, 
And never blanched in fear. 

This case of Mrs. Hibbins is further interesting as being the 
second one that the lamentable annals of witchcraft record, that 
of Margaret Jones, in 1G4S, being the first. The simple state- 
ment should suffice to correct the belief, more or less preva- 
lent to-day, that the Salem outbreak was the beginning, instead 
of being the tragical end, of the delusion in Xew England. Mrs. 
Hibbins's cause is also memorable as the first known instance of 
the General Court of the Colony sitting in trial in a case of life 
and death. The tragedy, therefore, lacked no element of solem- 
nity to render it deeply impressive. 

Mrs. Ann Hibbins was the wife of William Hibbins, a wealthy 
and influential merchant of Boston. Hutchinson says that he 
was one of the principal merchants in all the Colony. At this 
early day in its history he had served the Colony with credit, 
first as its agent in England, and again as one of the assistants, 
or chief magistrates. These important trusts denote tbe high 
esteem in which he was held, and they confirm his admitted 
capacity for public aff\iirs. A series of unlucky events, however, 
brought such heavy losses upon him in his old age as seriously 



MISTRESS ANN HIBBINS. 31 

to impair his estate ; but what was perhaps worse to "bear, the 
sudden change from affluence to a more straitened way of living 
is alleged not only to have soured his wife's naturally unstable 
temper, but to have so far unsettled her mind that she became 
in turn so morose and so quarrelsome as to render her odious 
to all her neighbors. Instead of being softened by misfortune, 
she was hardened and embittered by it. And it is thought that 
some of these neighbors were led to denounce her as a witch, as 
presently they did, through motives of spite, or in revenge for 
her malice toward, or her abusive treatment of, them. 

It was a credulous age, when the spirit of persecution was 
easily aroused. The eye of the whole town was presently turned 
upon Mrs. Hibbins. There is little room to doubt that she was 
the unfortunate possessor of a sharp tongue and of a crabbed 
temper, neither of which was under proper restraint. Most 
unfortunately for her, as it fell out, a superior intelUgence and 
penetration enabled her to make shrewd guesses about her 
neighbors and their affairs, which the old wives and gossips be- 
lieved and declared no one else but the Devil or his imps could 
have known or told her of. From dislike they advanced to 
hatred, then to fear, and then it no doubt began to be freely 
whispered about that she was a witch. Such a reputation would 
naturally cast a fatal blight over her life. No wife or mother 
believed herself or her infant for one moment safe from the 
witch's detestable arts, since she might take any form slfe 
pleased to afflict them. Presently, the idle gossip of a neigh- 
borhood grew into a formal accusation. How much could be 
made in those days of a little, or how dangerous it then was to 
exercise any gift like that of clairvoyance or mind-reading, the 
following fragment will make clear to the reader's mind. Upon 
this point Uv. Beach, a minister in Jamaica, writes to Dr. Increase 
Mather as follows : — 

"You may remember what I have sometimes told you your famous 
Mr. Norton once said at his own table, before Mr. Wilson the pastor, 
Elder Penn, and myself and wife, etc., who had the honour to be his 
guests,— that one of your magistrates' wives, as I remember, was 




EXECUTION OF MKS. HIBBINS. 



MISTEESS ANN HIBBINS. 33 

hanged lor a witch, only for having more wit than her neighbours. 
It was his very expression, she having, as he explained it, unhappily 
guessed that two of her persecutors, whom she saw talking in. the 
street, were talking of her ; which, proving true, cost her her life, 
notwithstanding all he could do to the contrary, as he himself told 
us." 

One can hardly read this fragment without shuddering. 

The increasing feeling of detestation and fear having now 
broken out into a popular clamor for justice upon the witch, 
Mrs. Hibbins w^as first publicly expelled from the communion of 
her church, and then publicly accused and thrown into prison. 
When the prison door closed behind her, her doom was sealed. 

Fortunately, perhaps, for him, for lie died a year before this 
bitter disgrace sullied his good name, the husband was not 
alive to meet the terrible accusation or to stem the tide setting so 
strongly and so pitilessly against the wife whom he had sworn at 
the altar to love, cherish, and protect. If her brother, Eichard 
Bellingham, then holding the second place in the Colony, made 
any effort to save her, that fact nowhere appears. Her three 
sons, whom she seems to have loved with the affectionate tender- 
ness of a fond mother, were all absent from the Colony. Alone, 
friendless, an object of hatred to her own neighbors, her heart 
may well have sunk within her. 

Under such distressing circumstances was poor old Dame Hib- 
bins, who once held her head so high, dragged from her dungeon 
before the Court which was to try her as the worst of criminals 
known to the law. The jury, however, failed to convict her of 
any overt act of witchcraft. But she could not escape thus. 
The people, it is said, demanded her blood, and nothing short of 
this Avould satisfy them. So the magistrates, having the power 
to set aside the verdict, obeying the popular voice, brought 
her before the bar of the General Court, where, in presence of 
the assembled wisdom of the Colony, she was again required to 
plead guilty or not guilty to being a witch. She answered with 
firmness and spirit that she was not guilty, and said she was 
willing to be tried by God and the Court. The evidence already 
taken against her was then read, witnesses \vere heard, and her 

3 



34 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



answers considered ; and the whole case being then submitted for 
its decision, the Court by its vote this time found her guilty 
of witchcraft according to the tenor of the bill of indictment. 
Governor Endicott, rising in his place, then pronounced in open 
court the awful sentence of death upon the doomed woman for 
a crime which had no existence save in the imagination of her 
accusers. The warrant for her execution was made out in due 
form, the fatal day was fixed, and the marshal-general was 




THE OLD ELM. 



therein directed to take with him "a sufficient guard." Then 
the poor, infirm, su^^erannuated old woman, as innocent as the 
babe unborn, was led back to prison a condemned felon. Then 
the members of the Great and General Court, satisfied that they 
had done God's work in hanging a witch, dispersed in peace 
to their homes, made more secure, as they believed, by this act 
of justice. 



MISTEESS ANN HIBBINS. 35 

As the sentence was not carried into effect for a whole year, it 
is probable that the intercession of friends may have procured 
for the condemned woman tliis reprieve. But it could not avert 
her final doom, however it might delay it. That was sealed. 
On the day that she was to suifer she made and executed in 
prison a codicil to her will, clearly disposing of all her property. 
She Avas then taken to the usual place of execution, and there, 
hanged. 

The " usual place of execution " being the Common, it is a 
tradition that Mrs. Hibbins, as well as others who suti'ered at 
the liands of the public executioner, was launched into eternity 
from the branch of the Great Elm Tree that stood, until within 
a few years, a commanding and venerated relic of the past, near 
the centre of this beautiful park. Her remains were shamefully 
violated. A search was immediately made upon the dead body 
of the poor woman for the distinguishing marks that all witches 
were supposed to have on their persons. Her chests and boxes 
were also ransacked for the puppets or images by which their 
victims were afflicted, but none were found. The remains 
were then probably thrust into some obscure hole, for the suf- 
ferer, being excommunicated and a condemned witch, would not 
be entitled to Christian burial, although she earnestly begged 
this poor boon in her will. Hubbard, who writes nearest to the 
event, says that they who were most forward to condemn Mrs. 
Hibbins were afterward observed to be special marks for the 
judgments of Divine Providence. 

And all this really happened in the good town of Boston in 
the year 1656 ! 



36 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



MARY DYER. 

1659. 

IT is a matter of history that in 1656 a people who wore their 
hair long, kept their hats on iu the public assemblies, and 
who said "thee" and "thou," instead of "you," when address- 
ing another person, made their unwelcome appearance in New 
England. They were forthwith attacked with all the energy of 
a bitter persecution. 

When called upon to speak out in defence of their cruel 
proceedings, the Puritan authorities declared their creed to be 
this : They having established themselves in a wilderness in 
order to enjoy undisturbed their own religious convictions, held 
it right to exclude all others who might seek to introduce tlif- 
ferent opinions, and therefore discord, among them. From this 
it is plain to see that the idea of toleration had not yet been 
born. The further fact that to tliis cruel and selhsh policy, 
sternly persevered in to the last, the Colony owed the loss (jf 
most of the political privileges that it had hitherto enjoyeil, 
renders it one of the stepping-stones of history. Nor have the 
most zealous apologists for these acts of the Puritan fathers ever 
been able to erase the stain of blood from tlieir otherwise fair 
escutcheon. 

Let us recount a single startling episode of this lugubrious 
history. Two words will explain the situation. 

On both sides of the ocean the Puritan cry was " freedom to 
worship God as we do." The persecution of Quakers had 
already begun in England under the austere rule of the Puritan 
Commonwealth. They were treated as Aveak fanatics who 
needed wholesome correction, rather than as persons dangerous 
to the public weal. After this had been some time in progress, 
some of the persecuted Friends came over to New England for 



MARY DYER. 



37 



an asylum, or ont of the frying-pan into the fire. The local 
authorities, urged on by the whole body of Orthodox ministers, 
resolved to strangle this new heresy in its cradle. But they 
had forgotten the story of the dragon's teeth. For every Qnaker 
they banished, ten arose in his place. 




SCOUKGING A QUAKER. 



Among the first Quakers to arrive in the Colony were two 
women. And it should be observed that the women all along 
took as active a part in disseminating the new doctrines as the 



38 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

men did. As was iuevitable, such an abrupt innovation upon 
the settled convictions of the time respecting woman's i)lace in 
the churches and in society, was a moral shock to the comnni- 
nity which quickly recoiled upon the lieads of the offenders. 

These intruding Quakers, having anuounced themselves as 
confessors and missionaries of the true faith of Christ, were all 
presently put under lock and key as persons guilty of promul- 
gating rank heresies, and as blasphemers, and tlieir sectarian 
books were also seized and committed to the flames by the 
common hangman. The Quakers then became violent and 
aggressive in their turn. They retaliated with prophesies of 
evil. They freely denounced the judgments of Heaven upon 
their oppressors. One woman, seeing Governor Endicott pass 
by the prison, vociferated from her grated window, — 

" "Woe unto thee ! thou art an oppressor ! " 

The first comers were all banished, with a stern admonition 
not to return to the Colony. They were put on shipboard and 
ordered to depart. And this, it was hoped, would be the last of 
them. This was, in fact, the easiest Avay of ridding the coun- 
try of them and their errors, had these not already taken root 
in the soil itself. Then, as no such law existed, one was made, 
punishing an}' Quaker who might afterward come into the 
jurisdiction. This law imposed severe penalties. Yet, though 
cruelly enforced, it was soon found inadequate, the number of 
Quakers increasing ; and so, the authorities being now at their 
wits' end, another law, decreeing death to any of that sect who 
should presume to return after banishment, was enacted,, against 
strong opposition. There was, in fact, a conscience in the Colo- 
nial body. But the rulers could not now retreat without admitting 
themselves vanquished ; and so, pressing the point, the " bloody 
law " was inscribed upon the statute-book of the Colony. 

AYe have now finished the prologue of the drama, and it is 
time to introduce the real actors upon the stage. 

Marv Dyer, a comely and grave matron, then living in Rhode 
Island, was one of those rare spirits who are predestined to 
become martyrs and saints to the faith that they profess. 



MAKY DYER. 39 

She and her husband, William Dyer, were originally inhabi- 
tants of Uoston, and members of the church there, they having 
emigrated from England to the Colony in the year 1635. From 
these incidents surrounding Mrs. Dyer's career it is clear that 
both she and her husband belonged to the better class of emi- 
grants. She is represented by Sewel, the Quaker historian, as 
being a person of good family and estate, and by Winthrop as 
a very proper and fair woman, but, as he deprecatingiy adds, 
having a " very proud spirit." In her, therefore, we have the 
portrait of a comely woman of fine presence, high spirit, a fair 
share of education, and possessing, moreover, a soul endowed 
with the purpose of an evangelist or, at need, a martyr. Both 
Mrs. Dyer and her husband became early converts to the pecu- 
liar doctrines held by that priestess of common-sense, Mrs. 
Anne Hutchinson, to whose untoward fortunes they continued 
steadfost. Tliere was, in fact, a bond of sympathy between 
tliese two women. When Mrs. Hutchinson was excommuni- 
cated, young Mrs. Dyer walked out of the church with her in 
presence of the whole congregation. When she was banished, 
Mrs. Dyer followed her to Rhode Island. This was in 1637. 

During the excitement produced by the rapid spread of Mrs. 
Hutchinson's opinions, and by her subsequent arrest and trial on 
the charge of heresy, Mrs. Dyer gave premature birth, it was said, 
to a monster, which Winthrop describes with nauseating minute- 
ness. Losing sight of Mrs. Dyer for nearly twenty years, we 
suppose her life to have been an uneventful one, — perhaps one 
of unconscious preparation and of spiritual growth for the work 
she was to do and the suffering she was destined to undergo. 
When we next see her, the comely young wife has become a 
middle-aged matron, who is blindly obeying the command of des- 
tiny. She now presents herself in the garb of a Quakeress, and 
in company with professing Quakers, to the people of Boston, 
any one of whom, by harboring her even for a single night, or 
offering her a crust of bread, became a breaker of the law, and 
was liable to a heavy penalty for so doing. She was imme- 
diately taken up and thrust into the common jail, where she 



40 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

remained in confinement until her husband, being apprised of 
her arrest, hastened to her relief. His urgent prayer for his 
wife's release was only granted upon his giving bonds in a large 
sum to take her away out of the Colony, and even then the 
authorities further stipulated that she should be permitted to 
speak with no one during the journey. Upon these conditions 
she was conducted under guard beyond the settlements. 

In September, 1659, in company with "William Robinson, 
Marmaduke Stevenson, and Nicholas Davis, Mary again, and 
this time with full knowledge of the peril of the act, visited 
Boston for the purpose of testifying against the iniquitous laws 
in force there, or, as they declared it themselves, " to look the 
bloody laws in the face," and to meet the oppressors of her 
people, as it were, in their own stronghold. 

Short was the time allowed them. The whole four were 
quickly made prisoners, and were brought before the Court, 
which passed sentence of banishment, to which the certain 
penalty of death now attached, should they return again. They 
were then released, and ordered to depart out of the Colony. Not 
obeying this mandate, Eobinson and Stevenson were soon again 
apprehended, and were again consigned to prison, where they were 
used like condemned felons, being chained to the floor of their 
dungeon. Within a month Mary also became, for the second 
time, an inmate of the same prison, having been recognized and 
taken while standing in front of it. By thus setting the law at 
defiance, the trio were regarded as rushing upon a fool's fate. 

With Mary came Hope Clifton, also of Ehode Island. The 
declared purpose of the women was to visit and minister to the 
Friends then lying in prison. The settled purpose of the pris- 
oners to defy the law being known to their friends, and no 
mercy being expected for them, several of these came to Boston 
in order to assist in the last act of the tragedy. One even 
brought linen for the sufferers' shrouds. All this imparts a 
highly dramatic character to the acts of the resolute martyrs. 

The three prisoners who had thus forfeited their lives to the 
law were, on the 20th of October, brought before the Court of 



MARY DYER. 41 

M.aLjistrates. The incorruptible but implacable Endicott pre- 
sided. The men keeping their liats on, Endicott ordered the 
officer to pull them off. He then addressed the prisoners in the 
language of stern remonstrance and reproof. He told them tha't 
neither he nor the other magistrates then present desired their 
death, but that the laws must be enforced. All three were con- 
demned to be hanged. 

Mrs. Dyer heard her doom pronounced with serene composure, 
simply saying, — 

" The Lord's will be done ! " 

"Take her aAvay, marshal," commanded Endicott, im])a- 
tiently. 

" I joyfully return to my prison," she rejoined. 

On her w^ay back to prison, filled with the exaltation of the 
Spirit, she said to the marshal, or high-sheriff, who was conduct- 
ing her, " Indeed, you might let me alone, for I would go to the 
prison without you." 

" I believe you, Mrs. Dyer," the officer replied ; " but my 
orders are to take you there, and I must do as I am com- 
manded." 

During the interval of a week occurring between the sen- 
tence and the day fixed for its execution, Mrs. Dyer wrote an 
" Appeal to the General Court," in which she compares herself 
with Queen Esther, and her mission with that of the queen to 
Ahasuerus. It is pervaded throughout by a simple and 
touching dignity. There is not one craven word in it, or one 
entreating pardon or expressing a doubt of the righteousness of 
her own acts. Calmly she rehearses the history of her case, 
and then concludes her appeal, " in love and the spirit of meek- 
ness," to the justice and magnanimity of the Court which was 
able to set her free. But if it was heeded, her prayer was 
unanswered. The renewed and earnest intercession of Mrs. 
Dyer's husband and son were alike ineifectual ; the magistrates 
remained unmoved. But it is said that the son, in the hope 
of yet saving her, passed the last night in his mother's cell, 
beseeching her to abjure, or at least so far to retract her mis- 



42 



XEW-E^y"GLAXD LEGENDS. 



taken opinions as to give some chance for hope that the judges 
might yet relent, and so commute her sentence of death to ban- 
ishment. History has kindly drawn the veil over this scene. 
All we know is that the mother preferred death to dishonor. 

Xor wei-e other ef- 
■^■■■■■^^ forts wanting to save 
the condemned prison- 
ers. Suitoi"s who Avere 
able to make them- 
selves heard in the 
council-chamber and in 
tlie Governor's closet 
earnestly labored to 
prevent the consumma- 
tion of the crime. 

On Thursday, the 
27th of October, in the 
morning, according to 
an ancient custom, the 
drummers of the trained 
bauds beat their drums 
up and down the 
streets, to notify the 
soldiers to get under 
arms. This being the 
time-honored lecture- 
day, which was also the one usually appointed for holding pub- 
lic executions, as soon as the public worship was over, the drums 
were again heard, the trained bands assembled and formed in 
order, and were then marched to the prison, where they halted. 
Then the high-sherilf, exhibiting his warrant, called for the 
bodies of the prisoners by name, their irons were knocked oif by 
the jailer, and, after tenderly embracing each other, they were 
led forth to take their places in the ranks of the guani, Mary 
being placed between the two men Avho were to suffer with her. 
A great multitude had assembled to witness these solemn pro- 




HAXD R£ZL. 



MAKY DYER. 43 

ceediugs. The procession then moved, the prisoners on foot, 
the people pressing closely around theui, in order not to lose a 
word of what they might say ; but whenever the condemned 
attempted to speak, as now and then they did, the drummers 
were ordered to heat their drums, and so drowned the voices in 
the uproar. One sees here, as always, that every tyranny is 
afraid of its victims. Hemmed in by armed men, and sur- 
rounded by a surging and excited throng, the prisoners walked 
hand in hand all the way to the scaffold, supporting and com- 
forting each oth-er in this most trying moment with a sublime 
fortitude. The brutal marshal, seeing this, said sneeringly to 
Mary : " Are you not ashamed, you, to walk thus hand in hand 
between two young men 1 " 

Unmoved by the taunt, she replied : " No ; this is to me an 
hour of the greatest joy I could have in this world." 

The cortege having at length reached the place of execution, 
it having marched by a roundabout Avay, — -for fear, it is said, 
that a rescue might be attempted, — Mary and her fellow sufferers 
bid each other a last farewell. Eobinson first ascended the fatal 
ladder. While uttering his dying words, predicting a visitation 
of divine wrath to come upon his slayers, a harsh voice in the 
crowd cried out : " Hold thy tongue ! Thou art going to die 
with a lie in thy mouth ! " 

Stevenson's last words Avere these : " Be it known unto all, 
this day, that Ave suffer not as evil-doers, but for conscience' 
sake." 

It was now Mary's turn. Her two dear friends were hanging 
dead before her eyes. Fearlessly she mounted the fatal ladder, 
and fearlessly she submitted herself to the hangman's hands. 
She was then pinioned, blindfolded, and the fatal noose placed 
about her neck. All being then ready, the crowd awaited the 
last act in breathless suspense, when in the distance a voice was 
heard crying out, " Stop ! She is reprieved ! " 

The agitation of the spectators is something that we can only 
faintly conceive. But Mary, it is said, remained calm and 
unmoved through it all. " Her feet being loosed," says Sewel, 



44 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

'• they bade lier come down. But she, whose mind was ah-eady 
as it were in heaven, stood still, and said she Avas there willing 
to suffer as her brethren did, unless they would annul their 
wicked law." She was then taken down from the scaffold and 
re-conducted to prison, where her son, who was anxiously await- 
ing her return, embraced her as one risen from the dead. Only 
then she learned that to his importunity with the magistrates 
she owed her deliverance from the fate of her brethren. The 
son had saved l)is mother. The death-sentence had been com- 
muted to banishment ; but Mary now received a solemn warning 
to the effect that the extreme penalty would surely be exacted 
should she again offend against the majesty of the law. She 
Avas then conducted under guard to the Colony frontier, whence 
she pursued her way home to Rhode Island. 

But the old impulse reviving in her in full force, in defiance 
of the warning thrice repeated, Mary again sought to obtain the 
crown of martyrdom to which she was foreordained. Burning 
with fanatical zeal, regardless, too, of the conditions which had 
procured the remission of her sentence, she deliberately violated 
the law again. In May, 1660, the unfortunate woman had so 
little regard for her personal safety as again to come to " the 
bloody town of Boston." She was soon summoned before the 
General Court. Swift was the judgment, swift the execution. 
Endicott, indeed, — respect to his manhood for it ! — offered 
her a chance of escape ; but her soul was too lofty, her purpose 
too strongly fixed, to avail herself of a subterfuge to save her 
life. Endicott conducted her examination. He was as hard as 
iron, she gentle but undaunted. 

" Are you the same Mary Dyer that was here before 1 " he began. 

" I am the same Mary Dyer that was here at the last General 
Court," she replied. 

" Then you own yourself a Quaker, do you not 1 " said the 
Governor. 

" I own myself to be reproachfully called so." 

Then the jailer spoke up and said that Mary was a vaga- 
bond. 



MARY DYEK. 45 

" I must then repeat the seuteuce once before pronounced 
upon you," said Endicott. 

Mary quietly rejoined : " That is no more tlian what thou 
saidst before." 

" True," said Endicott sternly, " but now it is to be executed ; 
therefore prepare yourself for nine o'clock to-morrow." 

Mary then began to speak of her call, when the Governor 
burst out with, — 

" Away with her ! away with her ! " 

In great anguish of mind, he being wholly ignorant that slie 
meditated this fatal step, her husband wrote to the General 
Court of Massachusetts, once more imploring its clemency. 
His entreaties would have moved a stone to pity. But it was 
now too late. On the hrst day of June tlie solemn ceremonies 
of the previous October were repeated. The scaffold was 
erected on Boston Common, a broad area of unoccupied land 
adjoining the town, then used by the inhabitants in commonage, 
and on muster-days as a training-field, as well as for the place 
of public execution. 

At the appointed hour the marshal came for her, and enter- 
ing without ceremony the cell where she was, he roughly bade 
her make haste. Mary, speaking to him mildly, asked a few 
moments' delay, saying that she would be ready presently. But 
he rudely and unfeelingly retorted that it was her place to wait 
upon him, and not his upon her. Then one of the female pris- 
oners, with the instinct of her sex, ventured to expostulate with 
this brutal functionary, when he turned upon her fiercely, and 
with threats and abuse silenced her. In fact, the Quakeresses 
were treated like vagaboiids and outcasts. 

The authorities having reason to fear a popular tumult, the 
prisoner was taken strongly guarded over a circuitous route to 
the fatal spot, and again her voice was silenced by the rattle of 
drums before and behind her. AVith the birds innocently twit- 
tering above her liead, once more Mary ascended the scalfold 
with a firm step. Pity was not wholly extinct. Some of the 
people present made a last effort to save her, but Mary would 



46 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

not agree to leave the country. To the hope some expressed 
that her life would be again spared, the officer commanding 
the armed escort roughly retorted that she was guilty of her 
own blood. 

" Nay," she replied, " I came to keep bloodguiltiness from 
you, desiring you to repeal the unrighteous and unjust law made 
against the innocent servants of the Lord." 

Mr. Wilson, minister of Boston, attended her on the scaffold 
in her last moments, not to offer consolation, but to exhort her 
to recant. 

" Mary Dyer," he exclaimed, "oh, repent! oh, repent! Be 
not so deluded and carried away by the deceits of the Devil ! " 

She answered him in terms of mild reproof: "N"ay, man, I am 
not now to repent." 

A colloquy by which her last moments were embittered was 
kept up on the scaffold. She Avas reproached for saying that 
she had been in paradise. She reiterated it. " Yes," said tliis 
undaunted woman, " I have been in paradise several days." 

The executioner then performed his office. 



THE KING'S MISSIVE. 

1661. 

" Charles R. 

" Trusty and Wellbelpved, we greet you well. Having been 
informed that several of our Subjects among you, called Quakers, 
have been and are imprisoned by you, whereof some have been exe- 
cuted, and others (as hath been represented unto us) are in Danger 
to undergo the Like : We have thought fit to signify our Pleasure 
in that Behalf for the future, and do require, that if there be any of 
those people called Quakers amongst you, now already condemned to 
suffer Death, or other Corporal Punishment, or that are imprisoned, 
or obnoxious to the like Condemnation, you are to forbear to proceed 
any farther, but that you foithwith send the said Persons (whether 



THE king's missive. 47 

condemned or imprisoned) over to this our Kingdom of England, 
together with their respective Crimes or Offences laid to their Charge, 
to the End such Course may be taken with them here, as shall be 
agreeable to our Laws and their Demerits. And for so doing, these 
our Letters shall be your sufficient Warrant and Discharge. Given 
at our Court at Whitehall, the 9th day of September, 1661, in the 
thirteenth Year of our Reign. 

" Subscribed, To our Trusty and Wellbeloved John Endicot, Esq. ; 
and to all and every other the Governoiu- or Governours of our Plan- 
tation of New-England, and of the Colonies thereunto belonging, that 
now are, or hereafter shall be : And to all and every the Ministers 
and Officers of our said Plantation and Colonies whatever, within 
the Continent of New-England. 

" By His Majesty's Command. 

"WiL. Morris." 

THIS was no common letter wJiich iu ^S'ovember, 1661, fell 
like a bombshell into the wicked town of Boston. It was 
certainly an alarming manifesto. It brought a proud and sen- 
sitive people, wlio had ceased to pay respect to loyalt}^ and 
had almost forgotten its forms, once more rudely to their knees. 
And they were a stern race, fearing God more than they lionored 
the King. But they felt the shock that had just overthrown 
the Puritan Commonwealth; and the voice which rose from 
among its ruins, commanding them to obey, sounded at the 
moment in their ears very much like the voice of God. 

Continued encroachment upon the prerogative of the throne 
had doubtless much to do wath ordering their destiny, — possi- 
bly as much as had the cruelties practised toward the offending 
Quakers, to whose prayers for redress the Parliament had paid 
little attention ; but witli the return of the old monarchy, its 
likings and its hatreds, the politic Friends had hopes tliat the 
easy-going Charles would lend a more gracious ear to them in 
the hour of his great triumph over the Puritan cause ; nor 
would he be found unwilling to lower the pride of those 
haughty Puritan subjects of liis on the other side of the Atlantic 
who w^ere endeavoring to carry on a little commonwealth of 



48 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



their own. The moment was indeed opportune. Floating in 
adulation, Charle.s the king was well disposed to clemency 
toward all except those who had kept him for twelve years 
Charles the exile. The Quakers were on their part strongly 
roused to make renewed effort, too, by the news they received 
of the execution of William Leddra at Boston. Then Edward 
Burroughs, a leading Friend, and a man of action, entreated and 
obtained an audience of the King. 




ENDICOTT RECEIVING TUE KINO S OllDEIl. 



When he was ushered into the presence-chamber his first 
words were, — 

" Sire, there is a vein of innocent blood opened in your 
Majesty's dominions which, if not stopped, may overrun all." 

" I will stop that vein," said the King, shortly. 

Burroughs then laid before the King a detailed account of 
what had been done in IS'ew England. After he had listened 
to the catalogue of scourgings, brandings, cropped ears, banish- 
ments upon pain of death, and lastly of the execution of four 



THE king's missive. 49 

persons of tliis sect for presuming to return to the Colony when 
forbidden to do so, the suitor, turning accuser, then presented the 
King with the proofs that the j^yew England autliorities had 
refused to allow the Quakers an appeal to England when they 
had demanded it. His Majesty is reported to have taken great 
notice of this particular item of the indictment, calling out to 
the lords who were with him to hear it, and then exclaiming 
ironically, — 

" Lo ' these are my good subjects of Xew England." 

He then inquired when a ship would be ready to sail for New 
England, and upon being informed, dismissed Burroughs, with 
the promise that he should presently hear from him through the 
Lord Chancellor. This promise Charles punctually kept. The 
mandatory letter which precedes our account was duly prepared, 
and then — bitterest pill of all for the disloyal colonists to swal- 
low ! — whom should the King's minister select to be the bearer 
of it, but Samuel Shattuck, an exiled Quaker, and one who had 
given the New England magistrates no end of trouble, he being 
finally banished by them from the Colony upon pain of death. 
It will thus be seen that nothing had been omitted that could 
render the humiliation complete. 

The London Friends, immediately this was done, chartered 
a vessel, of which Ealpli Goldsmith, another Quaker, was cap- 
tain, to carry the King's order and his messenger to Boston. 
In six weeks the ship arrived at her destination. It being the 
Sabbath, all the company remained quietly on board. 

Seeing a vessel, with an English ensign at her peak, cast 
anchor in their road, some of the selectmen of the town hastened 
on board to learn the news, little dreaming it, however, to be 
of so much personal interest to themselves. They eagerly asked 
the captain if he had brought any letters ; for, as may be imag- 
ined, intelligence of the events then taking place in England was 
awaited with the utmost anxiety and impatience. The master 
replied that he had, but he would not deliver them on that day ; 
and so his visitors got into their boat and went on shore again 
as wise as they came. But in the meantime some of them 

4 



50 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



having recognized Shattuck and others on board as being 
Quakers, they spread the report that " Shattuck and the devil 
and all had come back again." 

The next morning, armed with the King's mandate, Shattuck 
came on shore accompanied by Goldsmith, the master, and they 
two, after sending their boat back to the ship, went directly 
through the town to Governor Endicott's house, passing in their 




LIBERTY TKEE, PLANTED 1646. BUILDING ERECTED 1666. 



way the market-place where so many of their friends had been 
mercilessly whipped, and the jail in which many were still con- 
fined. A few steps more would bring them face to face with 
their worst enemy. They knew that they were bearding the 
lion when they knocked at Governor Endicott's door. 

The servant who opened it asked what was their business 
with his master. They bid him say that, being charged with 



THE king's missive. 51 

the commands of his Majesty the King, they should deliver 
their message into none but the Governor's own hands. They 
were then admitted without further questioning, and presently 
the redoubted Governor came in to them ; but upon perceiving 
that Shattuck kept his hat on, he commanded it to be taken 
off, which was done. Then having received the deputation and 
the papers, the Governor formally acknowledged its official char- 
acter by removing his own hat, and ordering that of Shattuck 
to be given to him again. Yet the man who now stood before 
him enjoying his moral degradation while protected by an in- 
violable safeguard, was the same one whom he had formerly 
sentenced to stripes and banishment. The draught was a bitter 
one, but Endicott bore himself with dignity. After this by- 
play indicating the homage due to royalty and its representative, 
the Governor read the letter, and bidding Shattuck and Gold- 
smith to follow him, then Avent to the Deputy-Governor's house, 
which stood near his own, and laid the papers before Belling- 
luim. Having held some conference with the Deputy, the 
nature of which may easily be imagined from the sequel, the 
Governor turned to the messengers and said briefly and with 
dignity, — 

"We shall obey his Majesty's command." 

After this interview was ended, Goldsmith gave liberty to all 
his passengers to come on shore, which they did, and afterward 
publicly held a religious meeting with those of their faith in the 
town, " returning thanks to God for his mercy manifested in this 
most Avonderful deliverance." All such assemblies as this having 
been unlawful, this act announced the King's active intervention 
in their affairs to the people. An order soon after issued, releas- 
ing all Quakers then in custody. 

The scene between Endicott and Bellingham is imagined by 
Mr. Longfellow in his "Kew England Tragedies." He there 
endeavors to depict the characters of the chief actors, and to 
show the spirit of these extraordinary times. In this par- 
ticular field he has therefore preceded Mr. Whittier, whose 
"King's Missive," prepared for the "Memorial History of Bos- 



52 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

ton," deals exclusively with the events surrounding the order of 
Charles II. The two pieces otfer, however, a striking contrast 
in method as well as in style, one being a consecutive and homo- 
geneous narrative, while the other is made up of separated inci- 
dents, selected here and there for their dramatic quality rather 
than their coherence or historical sequence. Eoth, however, 
have the same purpose — eternally to set the seal of condem- 
nation on a great wrong by exhibiting the Quakers in the light 
of martyrs. To this end Mr. Longfellow takes for his heroine a 
young girl, Edith Christison by name, who is brutally scourged 
from town to town, is then released, and driven forth into 
the wilderness. Such was the law, and such things actually 
occurred. Singularly enough, this is also the motive of Mr. 
Whittier's " Cassandra Southwick." In both cases the youth, 
beauty, constancy, and heroism of the sufferers strongly appeal 
to our sympathies, and are supposed deeply to move the actual 
spectators. But with a deeper insight into the human heart 
Mr. Longfellow makes the son of Governor Endicott himself 
fall in love with Edith, whose martyrdom he has witnessed, 
thus bringing straight home to the stern father the consequences 
of his own evil acts. The King's imperious mandate wounds 
his pride ; his son's conduct strikes at the heart, and this 
wound is mortal. Thus it is no less strange than true that, 
under favor of one of the -most profligate and irreligious of 
monarchs, the beneficent era of religious toleration began its 
unpromising dawning in New England. 

It is to be noted that whenever tliey can do so, Mr. Long- 
fellow's characters speak in the actual language of history. 
Indeed, the tragedy is not a creation, like " Ernani," but a frag- 
ment of sober history, taken from existing records, into which 
a poetic feeling is infused, and whose episodical parts afford 
occasional glimpses of the author's genius shming like pure 
gold in the rou«rh metal. 



THE king's missive. 53 



{From Longfelloiv' s '^ Neio England Tragedies.''^) 

Scene III. The Governor's Private Room. Papers upon the table. Endicott 
and Bellingham. 



ENDICOTT. 

Thus the old tyranny revives again ! 
Its arm is long enough to reach us here, 
As you will see. For, more insulting still 
Than flaunting in our faces dead men's shrouds, 
Here is the King's Mandamus, taking from i;s. 
From this day forth, all power to punish Quakers. 

BELLINGHAM. 

That takes from us all power ; we are but puppets, 
And can no lon£;er execute our laws. 



Opens the Mandamus and hands it to Bellingham ; and while he is reading, 
Endicott walks up and doicn the room. 

Here, read it for yourself ; you see his words 

Are pleasant words — considerate — not reproachful — 

Nothing could be more gentle — or more royal ; 

But then the meaning underneath the words, 

Mark that. He says all people known as Quakers 

Among us, now condemned to suffer death 

Or any corporal punishment whatever. 

Who are imprisoned, or may be obnoxious 

To the like condemnation, shall be sent 

Forthwith to England, to be dealt with there 

In such wise as shall be agreeable 

Unto the English law and their demerits. 

Is it not so ? 

BELLINGHAM {returning the paper). 
Ay, so the paper says. 



I 



54 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



ENDICOTT. 

I tell you, Richard Belliugliam, — I tell you, 

That this is the beguining of a struggle 

Of which no mortal can foresee the end. 

I shall not live to fight the battle for you, 

I am a man disgraced in every way ; 

This order takes from me my self-respect 

And the resj^ect of others. 'T is my doom, 

Yes, my death-warrant, — but must be obeyed ! 

Take it, and see that it is executed 

So far as this, that aU be set at large : 

But see that none of them be sent to England 

To bear false witness, and to spread reports 

That might be prejudicial to ourselves. [Exit Bellingham. 

There 's a dull pain keeps knocking at my heart, 

Dolefully saying, " Set thy house in order, 

For thou shalt surely die, and shalt not live ! " 

For me the shadow on the dial-plate 

Goeth not back, but on into the dark ! [Exit. 

Mr. Wliittier's poem presents the events we have recorded 
in a harmonious and remarkably picturesque narrative. He is 
conscientiously faithful both to the spirit and letter of the 
subject itself, while to the implacable spirit of persecution, 
personified here by Endicott, he is a generous and impartial 
judge. We write it, nevertheless, as a fact, that the poem 
caused much discussion on its first appearance, — a discussion 
fully vindicating the Quaker poet's adherence to the truth of 
history. But the prose and poetic versions are now before the 
reader for his decision. 

THE KING'S MISSIVE. 

Under the great hill sloping bare 

To cove and meadow and Common lot, 

In his council chamber and oaken chair 
Sat the worshipful Governor Endicott, — 



THE king's missive. 55 

A grave, strong man, wlio knew no peer 
In the pilgrim land where he ruled in fear 
Of God, not man, and for good or ill 
Held his trust with an iron will. 

He had shorn with his sword the cross from out 
The flag, and cloven the May-pole down, 

Harried the heathen round about, 

And whipped the Quakers from town to town. 

Earnest and honest, a man at need 

To burn like a torch for his own harsh creed, 

He kept with the flaming Lrand of his zeal 

The gate of the holy commonweal. 



The door swung open, and Rawsou the Clerk 

Entered and whispered underbreath : 
" There waits below for the hangman's work 

A fellow banished on pain of death, — 
Shattuck of Salem, unhealed of the whip, 
Brought over in Master Goldsmith's ship. 
At anchor here in a Christian port 
With freight of the Devil and all his sort ! " 

Twice and thrice on his chamber floor 
Striding fiercely from wall to wall, 
" The Lord do so to me and more," 

The Governor cried, " if I hang not at all ! 
Bring hither the Quaker." Calm, sedate, 
With the look of a man at ease with fate, 
Into that presence grim and dread 
Came Samuel Shattuck with hat on head. 

" Oft' with the knave's hat ! " An angry hand 

Smote down the offence ; but the wearer said. 
With a quiet smile : " By the King's command 

I bear his message and stand in his stead." 
In the Governor's hand a missive he laid 
With the Royal arms on its seal displayed. 
And the proud man spake as he gazed thereat, 
Uncoverin", " Give Mr. Shattuck his hat." 



56 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

He turned to the Quaker, bowing low : 

" The King commandeth your friends' release. 
Doubt not he shall be obeyed, although 

To his subjects' sorrow and sin's increase. 
What he here enjoineth John Endicott 
His loyal servant questioneth not. 
You are free ! — God grant the spirit you own 
May take you from us to parts unknown." 



THE QUAKER PROPHETESS. 

1677. 

THE Old South Church in Boston — not the present build- 
ing, but the one first erected upon the same spot — was 
the scene of an event without a parallel in the annals of our 
Puritan churches, in some of which, nevertheless, remarkable 
scenes had occurred. 

To the simple and austere Quaker manners, outdoing even 
Puritan ideas of moral and physical self-restraint, now and then 
comes the unexpected contrast of theatrical climax in its most 
bizarre forms. So the early history of the Friends in New 
England shows the dominant principle of passive opposition to 
persecution occasionally giving way, all at once, to an aggressive 
spirit that impelled the actors on through thorny ways toward 
the goal for which they strove 'and struggled. If, now and then, 
one half crazed by sufiering was betrayed into some act of folly, 
it is surely not a matter for astonishment or exultation. Their 
annals present the names of no informers and no apostates. 

Obeying the command of a hallucination to which she bowed 
as if it were a divine behest, the Quakeress Deborah Wilson 
had walked naked through the streets of Salem " as a sign of 
spiritual nakedness in town and country," and for so doing she 
was most uncharitably whipped with thirty stripes. Again, 
Lydia Wardwell, who is called " a young and tender chaste 



THE QUAKER PROPHETESS. 57 

person," for startling the congregation of JSTewbury by walking 
into the meeting-house there, unclothed, in the time of public 
worship, was tied up to the fence-post of the tavern where the 
court sat, at Ipswich, to undergo a similar punishment. 

But the case of Margaret Brewster differs from these others in 
that a number of persons took part in carrying out what it was 
expected would strike terror to the hearts of the beholders, and 
to this end it was conducted with studied attention to dramatic 
effect. 

One quiet Sabbath morning in July, 1677, accompanied by 
several of the most noted persons of her sect, both male and 
female, Margaret Brewster presented herself at the door of the 
Old South Meeting-house in sermon-time, the strangest visitor 
that had ever crossed its consecrated threshold. She first took 
off her riding-habit and her shoes and stockings, and then 
entered. In his Diary, which perhaps may become as famous 
as that of the immortal Pepys, Judge Sewall notes that while 
the congregation was listening to the words of the sermon from 
the aged pastor's lips, there suddenly was seen the apparition 
of a woman walking slowly up the broad aisle between two 
men, while two others walked behind. The woman was bare- 
footed, her head was sprinkled with ashes, her loosened hair 
straggled wildly down about her neck and shoulders, her face 
was besmeared with soot, and she wore a sackcloth gown loosely 
gathered around her person. This appearance, says the indig- 
nant diarist, "occasioned the greatest and most amazing uproar 
that ever I saw." 

No one has told us, but we can imagine the congregation 
rising in consternation to their feet, the sudden stop in the 
sermon, the moment of silence, like the calm before the storm, 
during which the dark prophetess delivered her solemn warning 
of a grievous calamity shortly to signify to them the displeasure 
of God. Then the excited voices of the men, all talking and 
gesticulating at once, the women shrieking in terror or dropping 
in a dead faint, the surging to and fro of a multitude, all occa- 
sioning " the greatest and most amazing uproar " that was ever 



58 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



heard inside these sacred walls, witnessed to the little central 
group that they had indeed created a profound sensation. The 
oifenders were all quickly taken into custody and hurried off to 
prison. When Margaret was arraigned before the court, the 
constable declared himself wholly unable to identify her as the 



_,^g^J^ 




^i^^-^;^ 



ANCIENT HOUSES, NORTH END. 



person he had arrested, she being then, as he deposed, " in 
the shape of a devil." She was sentenced to be Avhipped iip 
and down the town at the cart's tail, which cruel order was 
carried into effect a few days later. 

This event, as well it might, newly brought the affairs of the 
Friends to a crisis. The first feeling of exasperation demanded 
its victims. But this having spent itself, the Quakers, taking 
courage, assembled in their houses of worship in such formidable 
numbers that the multitude of offenders became their safe- 
guard. 



IN THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH. 59 

m THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

She came and stood in tlie Old South Church, 

A wonder and a sign, 
With a look the old-time sibyls wore 

Half crazed and half divine. 

Save the mournful sackcloth about her wound, 

Unclothed as the primal mother, 
With limbs that trembled, and eyes that blazed 

With a fire she dare not smother. 

Loose on her shoulder fell her hair, 

With sprinkled ashes gray ; 
She stood in the broad aisle, strange and weird 

As a soul at the judgment-day. 

And the minister paused in his sermon's midst, 

And the people held their breath, 
For these were the words the maiden said 

Through lips as pale as death : — 

" Thus saith the Lord : ' With equal feet 

All men my courts shall tread, 
And priest and ruler no more shall eat 

My people up like bread! ' 

" Eepent ! repent ! ere the Lord shall speak 

In thunder and breaking seals ! 
Let all souls worship him in the way 

His light within reveals ! " 

She shook the dust from her naked feet. 

And her sackcloth closely drew. 
And into the porch of the awe-hushed church 

She passed like a ghost from view. 



60 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



"MORE WONDERS OF THE INVISIBLE 
WORLD." 

1693. 

TO one who is not familiar with all the phases which the 
history of witchcraft in New England takes, Mr. Whit- 
tier's poem entitled " Calef in Boston " would doubtless be an 
enigma, although its foundation is fact and its purpose distinct. 
For such a champion of common-sense as Robert Calef proved 
himself to be when he entered the lists against this monstrous 
superstition, the poet has a natural and unstinted sympathy, and, 
using the privilege of genius, he has conferred upon the humble 
tradesman a patent of nobihty. Our own generation, applaud- 
ing the act, hastens to inscribe the name of Calef among the 
benefactors of his age. 

The general subject of witchcraft, including the settled be- 
liefs touching it, is set forth in another place in all its defor- 
mity. The active agency of Satan in human affairs being a 
thing admitted, it became the bounden duty of the godly minis- 
ters to meet his insidious attacks upon the churches, and they, 
as men deeplj'' learned in such things, were naturally appealed to 
by magistrates and judges for help and guidance. They at once 
put on all the armor of righteousness. Solemn fasting and 
prayer were resorted to as things most efficacious in the emer- 
gency. It was declared from the pulpit that the Devil was mak- 
ing a most determined effort to root out the Christian religion in 
New England, and the Government was advised vigorously to 
prosecute the cases of witchcraft before it. In all the subse- 
quent proceedings the ministers took a prominent part. They 
assisted in framing the questions to be put in such a way as 
to entrap the supposed witches, and they attended and took 
minutes of the examinations. They visited the accused persons 



"MOEE WONDEKS OF THE INVISIBLE WOELD." 61 

in prison who were believed to be in league with Satan, thus 
putting in practice the principle that, — 
The godly may allege 

For anything their privilege, 

And to the Devil himself may go, 

If they have motives thereunto ; 

For as there is a war between 

The Dev '1 and them, it is no sin 

If they, by subtle stratagem. 

Make use of him as he does them. 

Cotton Mather was the foremost clergyman of that dark day. 
He directed all his great abilities and learning energetically to 
exterminate the "devils" who, as he tells us in his "Wonders," 
were walking about the streets " with lengthened chains, making 
a dreadful noise ; and brimstone (even without a metaphor) was 
making a horrid and hellish stench" in men's nostrils. Learned, 
eloquent, and persuasive, a man of great personal magnetism and 
large following, his influence was sure to be potential on which- 
ever side it might be cast. It was now thrown with all its 
force, not to avert, but to strengthen, the delusion, thereby aggra- 
vating its calamitous consequences. Some writers, indeed, have 
found it easy to doubt his sincerity. Mr. Whittier, it will be 
.seen, writes in full accord with this feeling. But the same charge 
might with equal fairness include all the Christian ministers of 
Mather's time. 

Against Mather, the neighbor, adviser, and bosom friend of 
Governor Sir William Phips, the acknowledged head of the 
l^ew England clergy in its highest spiritual estate, a man having 
ancient and modern lore at his tongue's end, and withal gifted 
with a fluency, vivacity, and readiness in composing and writing 
that might make a bolder man hesitate to attack him, now 
entered the lists, like another David, Robert Calef, a simple 
clothier, unknown outside of his own obscure neighborhood. 
The controversy began in this wise. Calef addressed some let- 
ters to Dr. Mather, in which he arraigned not only the witchcraft 
proceedings, but the delusion itself, the occasion being one Mar- 



62 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS, 



garet Eule, a young woman of Mather's own congregation, whose 
singular afflictions had just been published to the world by him 
under the startling caption of " Another Brand pluckt from 
the Burning." 

According to Mather, this young woman was haunted by 
no fewer than eight malignant spectres, led on by a principal 
demon, who upon her refusal to enter into a bond with him, 
continually put her in excruciating bodily torture by pinching, 
scorching, and sticking pins into her flesh, throwing her into 
convulsions, lifting her bodily off the bed, and the like, wherein, 




CANDLESTICK, BIBLE, AND SPECTACLES. 



says Mather, she languished " for just six weeks together." And 
we are also told that at times the spectators of her miseries 
would be nearly choked with the fumes of brimstone rising 
in the chamber. 

Taking the alarm, which many no doubt equally shared, dread- 
ing a new outbreak of the delusion whose embers, unquenched 
by blood, were still smouldering, Calef also seems to have dis- 
trusted either the integrity or the wisdom of his learned adver- 
sary, whom he now opposed in behalf of religion and of public 
policy, not only with ability and vigor, but with a surprisingly 
well-equipped arsenal of scriptural learning. In vain Mather 
sneeringly spoke of him as '' the weaver turned minister," Calef 



"MORE WONDERS OF THE INVISIBLE WORLD." 63 

only plied him the more pointedly. At the end of the con- 
troversy the despised clothier turned out to be one of those men 
whose reason is never overthrown by panic, and who do not 
recede a single inch. Mather began with the mistake of under- 
rating him as an antagonist. 

After Mather's story of Margaret Eule had been made public, 
Calef also drew up and circulated one, taken from the mouths of 
other eye-witnesses, which is a protest against the methods used 
by Mather to draw out extravagant and iiicoherent statements 
from the afflicted girl. This proceeding gave great offence to 
the reverend author of " The Wonders." He retorted with abu- 
sive epithets, and threatened Calef with an action for slander. 
Calef was, in fact, arrested on a Avarrant for uttering " scandalous 
libels," and was bound over for trial ; but no prosecutor appear- 
ing, the case was dismissed. 

Instead of being silenced, Calef pursued with unremitting 
pertinacity his purpose to prevent a new access of the dismal 
frenzy of the preceding year, which he terms, with strong feel- 
ing, " the sorest affliction and greatest blemish to religion that 
ever befell this country." Later on Mather condescended to 
reply ; but it is evident that the reaction had now set in, and 
that those who had been the most forward in abetting the witch- 
craft proceedings were anxiously considering how best to excul- 
pate themselves both to their own and to the newly awakened 
public conscience. Mather was no exception. Favored by this 
reaction, Calef continued to press him hard. Cotton Mather's 
story of Margaret Rulfe is, in fact, a plea and an apology for the 
past. In it he asks, " Why, after all my unwearied cares and 
pains to rescue the miserable from the lions and bears of hell, 
which had seized them, and after all my studies to disappoint 
the devils in their designs to confound my neighborhood, must 
I be driven to the necessity of an apology 1 " This language 
shows how hard a thing it was for him to be forced to descend 
from his high pedestal. 

And again he naively says : " And now I suppose that some of 
our learned witlings of the coffee-house, for fear lest these proofs 



64 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



of an Invisible World should spoil some of their sport, will 
endeavor to turn them all into sport ; for wliich buflbonery 
their only pretence will be : ' They can't understand how such 
things as these could be done.' " He has become exquisitely 
sensitive to ridicule. 

But witchcraft had now indeed got to the length of its blood- 
corroded chain, and while the belief still prevailed almost as 
strongly as ever, few men could be found bold enough openly 
to advocate it. The sickening reflection that the judges had 
decreed the death of a score of innocent persons upon a mis- 
take paralyzed men's tongues, unless, like Calef, they spoke 
in obedience to the command of conscience. In 1700 lie 
collected and had printed in London all tlie pieces relating 
to his controversy with Cotton Mather, to which were added 
an " Impartial Account " of the Salem outbreak, and a review 

of Mather's life of Sir Wil- 
liam Pliips. To this he gave 
the title of " j\Iore Wonders of 
the Invisible World." Iso prin- 
ter could be found in Boston 
or in the Colony willing to 
undertake the publication, or 
expose it for sale. It "was 
publicly burned in the College- 
yard at Cambridge by order of 
the president, whom its exposures reached througli his near rel- 
ative. To break its force, a vindication was prepared and 
printed ; but there were no more denunciations made for witch- 
craft, or courts assembled to hang innocent people. Calef in- 
deed felt the resentment of the Matliers, but he had saved the 
cause. 

This is the subject to which Mr. AYhittier addresses his verses 
entitled " Calef in Boston." The allusion to puppet-play is 
drawn from the account of the Eule case, wherein it is related 
by Mather that the demons svho tormented the girl had puppets 
into which they would thrust pins whenever they wished to 




TOMB OF THE MATHEKS, 
COPP'S HILL. 



CALEF IN BOSTON. 65 

hurt her. This was a piece of olden superstition which as- 
sumed that by making an image in Avax or clay of the person she 
might hold a grudge against, a witch could put that person to 
the same torture that she did, in a mimic way, the image. 



CALEF IN BOSTON. 

J. G. WHITTIBR. 

In the solemn days of old 

Two men met in Boston town, 

One a tradesman frank and bold, 
One a preacher of renown. 

Cried the last, in bitter tone : 
" Poisoner of the wells of truth ! 

Satan's hireling, thou hast sown 

With his tares the heart of youth ! " 

Spake the simple tradesman then ; 

" God be j udge 'twixt thou and I ; 
All thou knowest of truth bath been 

Unto men like thee a lie. 

" Of your spectral puppet play 
I have traced the cunning wires ; 

Come what will, I needs must say, 
God is true, and ye are liars." 

When the thought of man is free, 
Error fears its lightest tones ; 

So the priest cried, " Sadducee ! " 
And the people took up stones. 

In the ancient burying-ground, 

Side by side, the twain now lie, — 

One wdth humble grassy mound, 
One with marbles pale and high. 
5 



66 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 




NIX'S MATE. 

THERE are two local legends, one of disaster and one of 
piracy, which, most unfortunately for the completeness 
of our collection, come either in whole or in part under the 
head of lost legends. The first is the account of the drowning 

of Captain George Worthylake, 
the keeper of the first lighthouse 
that was erected at the entrance 
to Boston Harbor. 

This sufficiently simple incident 
derives its chief interest from the 
curious fact that it Avas the subject 
xTn.''c Ti^Arri. of Franklin's earliest, and if we- 

are to believe him, misdirected, 
effort to court the Muses in a ballad. He says of it that his 
brother James, whose apprentice he then was, thinking that 
he might find his account in printing them, had encouraged 
him to write two ballads, one called the " Lighthouse Tragedy," 
containing an account of the loss of Captain Worthylake and 
his two daughters, the other a sailor's song on the capture of 
the noted pirate, Blackbeard. " They were," he ingenuously 
remarks, " wretched verses in point of style, mere blind-men'& 
ditties." When they were struck off, his brother despatched 
him to hawk them about the town. The first he assures us- 
had a prodigious run, because the event was recent and had 
made a great noise. ISTo copy of this ballad is known to exist, 
nor has tradition transmitted to us a single line of its verses. 

It is easily learned from contemporary records that Captain 
George Worthylake, who lived upon Lovell's Island, while on 
his way up the harbor, " took heaven by the way," as one writer 
piously puts it. His wife Ann and his daughter Faith, who 



NIXS MATE. 67 

accompanied him, also perished with him by drowning, and the 
three unfortunates were all buried in one grave in the ancient 
cemetery of Copp's Hill. The gravestone records the fact that 
they died November 3, 1718; but it is exasperatingly silent 
concerning any incident that was likely to produce a commemo- 
rative ballad. 

The other legend is the true story of the origin of the name 
long ago given to the submerged islet called Nix's Mate, over 
which a lonely obelisk rises out of the flowing tides, not for a 
memorial of dark and bloody deeds, as some people suppose, 
but as a guiding landmark to warn ships to steer clear of the 
dangerous reef beneath. No spot within a wide range of the 
coast is the subject of more eager curiosity to sailors or lands- 
men, or of more exaggerated conjecture, precisely because to this 
day its true history remains an enigma. But such as it is the 
legend is given for what it may be worth. 

Following the repulsive custom of erecting the public gibbet 
at the entrance to a town or a village, where the stark bodies 
of condemned malefactors were the first objects seen by all who 
passed in or out, it was usual to hang in chains condemned 
pirates at the entrance to a port, to signal a like warning to 
those who followed the sea as their highway. Long custom 
had sanctioned this iMst-mortem sentence. The laws allowed 
it and the people approved it. It followed that the stranger 
who passed underneath one of these ensigns of terror could 
have no doubt that he had entered a Christian land, since the 
administration of justice according to its most civilized forms 
confronted him upon its very threshold. 

The sunken reef now known as Nix's Mate was once an islet 
containing several acres of land, and it was at a very early day 
the property of a certain John Gallup, from whom the adjacent 
island is named. The sea has destroyed everj'^ vestige of it, 
excepting only the blackened boulders that lie exposed at low 
tide, over which the monument stands guard. Yet not more 
certainly has the islet perished through the action of destroying 
currents than has the memory of Nix or his Mate been swept 



68 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

away into oblivion by the tides of time. Still the name is a 
fact entered upon the public records of the Colony as a thing 
of general knowledge ; and we therefore continue to call the 
reef Nix's Mate without in the least knowing why we do so. 

The only other fact giving authority to the tradition connected 
with the islet is the certainty that it was more or less used in 
times past as a place of execution for condemned pirates, several 
of whom finished here a career of crime, the bare recital of which 
makes one's blood run cold. The name of Nix only is wanted 
to complete the black calendar. Every trace of the soil to which 
the bones of the victims were consigned has disappeared, and 
only the solitary monument indicates this graveyard of the sea, 
which the waves have kindly levelled and blotted out forever. 

It has, however, been handed down from generation to gener- 
ation, — and we have yet to find the individual bold enough to 
dispute it, — that one of these freebooters persisted to the last 
in declaring his innocence of the crimes for which he was to 
sufi'er death at the hangman's hands ; and he protested with his 
latest breath, before giving up the ghost, that in proof of the 
truth of his dying assertion the island would be destroyed. In 
eifect, the Avaves having done their work unhindered by any 
artificial obstruction, the superstitious have always seen in this 
a decree of Fate, and Nix's Mate is supposed by them to have 
suffered unjustly. But knowing as we do that the disappear- 
ance of the island is due to natural causes, we are unable satis- 
factorily to establish the connection between the prediction and 
its fulfilment. In any case, the verification of innocence, if such 
it shall be accounted, came too late by a century to save Nix's 
Mate from the halter. 



THE DUEL ON THE COMMON. 69 

THE DUEL ON THE COMMON. 

1728. 

ASSOCIATED with the vicinity of the Great Elm, is an 
episode not only of deepest tragical interest, but one 
still further remarkable as disproving for the thousandth time 
the popular fallacy that " murder will out." In JSTew England 
there had been nc need of edicts against duelling. The practice 
was universally looked upon as being no whit better than 
murder, and that feeling was voiced by Franklin, truly, though 
in language more pungent than polite, in his memorable reply 
to a demand for satisfoction a la mode. A combat of words 
began. After two or three passes, the philosopher easily dis- 
armed his adversary with his usual weapon, hard logic, of which 
he was a consummate master. Our story is a brief one. 

On the morning of July 4, 1728, at daybreak, the body of 
Benjamin Woodbridge, a young merchant of the town, was 
found lying in a pool of blood in a deserted part of the 
Common. He had been dead some hours of a sword-thrust. 
In fact, the weapon had passed completely through the unfor- 
tunate young man. 

No one can begin to imagine the consternation excited by 
the discovery ; and the feeling was not allayed when it tran- 
spired that Woodbridge had fallen in a duel with another young 
gentleman of the town named Phillips. Both of the principals 
were of the highest respectability. The affair was conducted 
without seconds, and the victor, after seeing his adversary fall, 
had fled. It was evidently a duel to the death. 

This has proved one of the best-kept family secrets that ever 
bafiied a scandal-loving generation. To this day the real cause 
of the singular and fatal nocturnal combat remains shrouded in 
mystery. It is indeed alleged that the quarrel originated over 
a game of cards at the public-house; but this supposition is 



70 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



hardly consistent with the secrecy, the absence of all witnesses, 
and the deadly purpose with which the duel was conducted. 
The parties had met early on the previous evening at the Royal 
Exchange, arranged the meeting, and immediately repaired to the 
rendezvous which one of them was destined never to leave alive. 

Positively nothing, then, is known of the origin of the affair. 
Still, it is evident that no common and vulgar quarrel over dice 
or cards, when one or both had made too free with " the Tus- 
can grape," could have so eternally sealed the lips of those to 
whom the real cause of this singular affair of honor must have 
been revealed. Phillips was hurried away on board a ship by 



/ ^, 










- <=<! 



V' .,1 




THE DUEL ON THE COMMON. 



his friends, and died miserably in exile. Tlie inquest elicited 
nothing of moment beyond the barren facts here narrated. Jus- 
tice was completely baffled. The headstone in the old Granary, 
where, in the language of the day, poor Woodbridge was " de- 
cently and handsomely interred," is silent. Satan, who had the 
arranging of this lugubrious combat, thrust home with young 
Phillips. Ignorant as we are of the real cause, we are yet irre- 
sistibly led to conclude that these misguided youtlis crossed 
swords not in a moment of passion, but at the instigation of 
some offence over which the grave itself must close. The grave 
Jias closed over it. 



DUG Danville's descent. 



71 



DUG D'ANVILLE'S DESCENT. 



1746. 

"TTAVING regard, possibly, to the maxim that a dauger 
J — L escaped is a danger no longer, the historians have in 
general treated the descent of Admiral d'Anville with easy- 
indifference. Yet the 
startling fact remains 
that so long as his fleet 
rode the seas in safety, 
the fate of New Eng- 
land trembled in the 
balance. We beg the 
reader's consideration 
of the story from this 
point of view. 

The taking of Louis- 
burg in 1745, a piece 
of audacity at Avhich 
France first stood aghast, 
and then went into a 
towering rage over it, 
came near being the 
prelude to a struggle 
involving nothing less 
than the destinies of 
England's American 
colonies. By opening 
new and alluring vistas 

of conquest to British statesmen, it set them upon fresh schemes 
for the conquest of Canada which they were secretly preparing 
to put in execution. In fact, by this mettled achievement, 
New England had driven the entering wedge into the very heart 




OLD SOUTH CHURCH, 1872. 



72 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

of the French colonial empire. England was now gathering her 
strength to force it home. 

On the other hand, it so incensed the French Court, then fresh 
from its brilliant victories in the Low Countries, that orders 
were given for the immediate equipping, at Brest, of a formi- 
dable land and sea armament, which it was meant should not 
only recover what had been lost, but carry the war energetically 
to the enemy's own doors. To guarantee the security of your 
possessions by recalling your enemy to the defence of his own, 
is a military maxim so old that the Cabinet of Yersailles could 
not be safely assumed to be ignorant of it. 

This double-shotted idea promised results highly important to 
the colonial schemes, as well as to the waning prestige, of France. 
So also did it give good promise of success ; for at Paris, thanks 
to British parsimony,*it was well known that the British Ameri- 
can seaports were no Louisburgs. Since, therefore, to ravage the 
jSTew England sea-coast was a thing perfectly feasible to do, Count 
Maurepas resolved to do it. And he meant to do it effectually. 
The preparations at Brest being quickly known in London, the 
two ancient gladiators began once more to strip for the approach- 
ing combat. 

Pursuing its own plans, the English Ministry was at the 
same time collecting ships, men, and materials of war at Ports- 
mouth, for the invasion of Canada. Orders were sent out to 
the Colonies to hasten the raising of troops for the same pur- 
pose. Then, the destination of the French fleet not being quite 
clear, the Ministry sent a squadron to blockade it in Brest ; but 
the French Admiral, eluding the vigilance of the British cruisers, 
slipped out and got to sea notwithstanding. Such was the situ- 
ation in the midsummer of 1746. 

The fleet now on the sea numbered eleven ships of the line 
and twenty frigates, carrying 814 guns and 7000 sailors, to 
which were joined thirty-four transports having on board five 
battalions of the veteran troops of France. The fleet was com- 
manded by M. de la Rochefoucauld, Due d'Anville, a man of 
illustrious descent, in the jDrime of life, to whom the fortunes of 



DUG D'aNVILLE's DESCENT. 73 

the expedition had been committed with fullest confidence in his 
ability to execute his orders to the letter. Those orders were to 
retake Louisburg and dismantle its fortifications, recapture Annap- 
olis and garrison it, and then to burn and destroy Boston, and 
lay waste with fire and sword the whole coast as far as Florida. 

Boston, the place where the plans for capturing Louisburg 
had originated, the brain and heart of the English Colonies, the 
centre of English aggression, the perpetual menace to French 
dominion in Canada, was to be especially distinguished by 
the vengeance of the Cabinet of Versailles. Boston was to be 
destroyed. Indeed, her defenceless condition invited an attack. 
Her only fortress had been stripped of its cannon to enable 
Pepperell to batter down Louisburg. There was no British 
squadron to defend it, and there was not a single British sol- 
dier in the whole province. 

All these circumstances being appreciated, it is impossible to 
exaggerate the consternation with whicli the certain intelligence 
of the escape of D'Anville was received at Boston. People stood 
aghast. Tlie danger was indeed imminent. He might at any 
moment be expected to announce his arrival upon the coas"t 
with his cannon. England, says Hutchinson, was not more 
alarmed with the Spanish Armada, than were Boston and the 
other :N'orth American seaports by the hourly expectation of this 
truly formidable flotilla. Brave man that he was. Governor 
Shirley prepared to meet the emergency with such means as he 
had. But there was not a moment to lose. He instantly called 
out a levy e?i masse. The scenes preceding the Louisburg expe- 
dition were repeated on a larger scale. Couriers spurred in every 
direction bearing the summons to arms, and everywhere the 
brave yeomanry responded with eager promptitude to the call. 
At night the hills blazed with bonfires. By day the roads 
swarmed with armed men hastening toward Boston. The Com- 
mon became a camp. All business except that of repelling the 
invader was at an end, and nothing else was talked of. In this 
activity the people a little recovered from the panic into which 
they had at first been thrown. 



74 NEW-EXGLAXD LEGENDS. 

"While the people were awaiting in feverish anxiety further 
news of the fleet, a fisherman came in from sea, who said that he 
had been brought to on the 'Noysl Scotia coast by four heavy 
ships of war. They required him to pilot them into Chebucto, 
which was the designated rendezvous for D'Anville's fleet. While 
lying to under the guns of one of these ships, he read on her 
stern the name " Le Terrible." Then, a fog having suddenly 
shut them in, he had succeeded in making good his escape, and 
had steered directly for Boston with the news. 

But the splendid fleet of D'Anville was destined to encounter 
a series of disasters hardly paralleled in the naval annals of 
France. An evil destiny pursued it. When it was off" Cape 
Sable, it experienced violent storms that scattered and dispersed 
it beyond the power of reassembling. Conflans A^ith four ships 
made sail for France ; others steered for the "West Indies ; and 
still others were drifting, disabled wrecks, at the mercy of the 
winds and waves. Finally the Duke succeeded in getting to the 
rendezvous with two or three ships only of all the magnificent 
squadron that had sailed from Brest. Within a week he died, 
it is hinted from the effect of poison administered by himself, 
he choosing death rather than to survive the disgrace which had 
so suddenly overwhelmed him. The Vice- Admiral then pro- 
posed that the remains of the fleet should return to France. 
La Jonquiere, Governor-General of Canada, being present at the 
Council, warmly opposed this, urging that the fleet, now aug- 
mented by the arrival of three more ships, and strengthened by 
the recovery of the sick, ought to strike one blow for the honor 
of France. He begged the Vice- Admiral to attempt at least the 
carrjdng out of a part of his instructions. These arguments 
prevailing with the Council, D'Estournelles, the Tice-Admiral, 
finding himself opposed and thwarted, lost his head, became 
delirious, and presently put an end to his life by falling on his 
own sword. The command then devolved on La Jonquiere. 
The troops that had been landed were re-embarked, and the 
fleet sailed to attack Annapolis; but it again meeting with a dis- 
abling storm, this enterprise was also abandoned, and the shat- 



A BALLAD OF THE FEE^XH FLEZT. 75 

tered remnant of D'Anxille's armada steered for France. Upon 
this the French Canadian forces then invading Nova Scotia 
broke up their camps and retreated. The hopes of the French 
Ministry had thus been everywhere wrecked. 

TThen these events became known in Boston, the great weight 
tliat had oppressed the minds of the people was so suddenly 
lifted off, that at first they could scarcely realize the change. 
WTien they did, the universal joy showed itself, not in noisy 
demonstrations, but, in the true Puritan spirit, iu prayer and 
thanksgiving. Prayers of gratitude went up from all the pul- 
pits ; for in the utter destruction of D'Anville's proud fleet by 
the winds and waves alone was seen, on every side, the hand 
of Gk)d once more manifesting itself, as in the old days, to his 
people. 

In this spirit, and taking these truly picturesque incidents 
for his theme, Longfellow supposes the Rev. Thomas Prince, 
then pastor of the Old South Church in Boston, to be recounting 
them to his congregation, ascribing to the power of prayer the 
destruction that overtook the fleet of France. 

A BALLAD OF THE FREXCH FLEET. 

OCTOBER, 1746. 

Me, Thoieas Pbisce {loquitur). 

A FLEET with fla^ arrayed 

Sailed from the port of Brest, 
And the Admiral's ship displayed 

The signal, '■ Steer southwest." 
For this Admiral d'Anville 

Had sworn by cross and crown 
To ravage with fire and steel 

Our helpless Boston town. 

There were rumors in the street. 

In the houses there was fear 
Of the coming of the fleet. 

And the danger hovering near; 



76 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

And while from mouth to mouth 
Spread the tidings of dismay, 

I stood in the Old South, 
Saying humbly, " Let us pray ! 

*' O Lord ! we would not advise ; 

But if in thy providence 
A tempest should arise 

To drive the French fleet hence, 
And scatter it far and wide, 

Or sink it in the sea. 
We should be satisfied, 

And thine the glory be." 

This was the prayer 1 made, 

For my soul was all on flame ; 
And even as I prayed, 

The answering tempest came, — 
It came with a mightj'- power. 

Shaking the windows and walls, 
And tolling the bell in the tower 

As it tolls at funerals. 



The fleet it overtook, 

And the broad sails in the van 
Like the tents of Cushan shook, 

Or the curtains of Midian. 
Down on the reeling decks 

Crashed the o'erwhelming seas ; 
Ah ! never were there wrecks 

So pitiful as these ! 

Tike a potter's A-essel broke 

The great ships of the litie ; 
They were carried away as a smoke. 

Or sank like lead in the brine. 
O Lord ! before thy path 

They vanished, and ceased to be. 
When thou didst walk in wrath 

With thine horses through the sea ! 



CHKIST CHUKCH. 



77 



CHRIST CHURCH. 

EDWIN B. RUSSELL. 

Gray spire, that from the ancient street 
The eyes of reverent pilgrims greet, 
As by thy bells their steps are led, 




CHRIST CHURCH. 



Thou liftest up thy voice to-day, 
Silvery and sweet, yet strong as aye, 
Above the liviuQ- and the dead. 



78 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Beneath thy tower, how vast the throng 
That moved through porch and aisle along 

The holy fane, the galleried height; 
As years came in, and years went out, 
With sob of woe, or joyful shout, 

With requiem rest, or anthem bright. 

Old faces haunt the ancient pew. 
And in the organ-loft renew 

The sacred strain of earlier times. 
When knight and dame in worship bent, 
And from their lips the homage sent 

That mingled with the answering chimes. 

And here the patriot hung his light. 
Which shone through all that anxious night. 

To eager eyes of Paul Revere. 
There, in the dark churchyard below, 
The dead Past wakened not, to know 

How changed the world, that night of fear. 

The angels on thy gallery soar, 
The Saviour's face thine altar o'er 

Is there, as in the elder day. 
The royal silver yet doth shine, 
And holds the pledge of love divine, 

That cannot change, nor pass away. 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 

1775. 

IK" Boston the first inquiry that every stranger makes is for 
Bunker Hill ; the next is to be directed to the old church 
wliere the lanterns were hung out on the night before the battles 
of Lexington and Concord. 

At nearly every hour of the day some one may be seen in the 
now unfrequented street looking up at the lofty spire with an 



PAUL kevere's ride. 79 

expression of deej5 satisfiiction, as if some long-cherislied wish 
had at last been accomplished. 

While he is endeavoring to_ impress the appearance of the 
venerable structure upon his memory, the pilgrim to historic 
shrines sees that a tablet, with an inscription cut upon it, is 
imbedded in the old, but still solid, masonry of the tower front. 
Salem Street is so narrow that he has no difficulty whatever in 
reading it from the curbstone across the way, which he does 
slowly and attentively. Bostonians all know it by heart. Thus 
it runs : — 

THE SIGNAL LANTERNS OF 

PAUL REVERE, 

DISPLAYED IX THE STEEPLE OF THIS CHURCH, 

APRIL 18, 177.5, 

WiUJNED THE COUNTRY OF THE MARCH 

OF THE BRITISH TROOPS 

TO LEXINGTON AND CONCORD. 

This inscription, then, has constituted Christ Church, in effect, 
a monument to Paul Revere and his famous exploit. The poet 
Longfellow has given him another. 

No stranger enters this neighborhood who does not get the 
impression that he has somevvliere, unknown to himself, walked 
out of the Nineteenth Century into tlie Eighteenth. 

The whole neighborhood is in a languishing state, though quite 
in keeping with the softened feeling tliat always conies over one 
in such retired corners. For here he has full lil.)erty to lose him- 
.self, undisturbed either by noise or bustle, and he can quietly 
enjoy the seclusion needful for getting into a frame of mind proper 
to the associations of the spot. Yet, strange as it now seems, 
this was once a fashionable quarter of the town, althougli that 
was long ago, and traces of the old-time gentility are still apparent 
here and there to the eye of the wanderer up and down the de- 
serted thoroughfares. In point of foct, notwithstanding it is one 
of the oldest divisions of the old city, the Avhole North End has 
lagged full half a century behind the other sections, — so far, 
indeed, that it is doubtful whether it will ever overtake them. 
This old church, with its venerable chimes, the armorial tomb- 



80 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



stones on Copp's Hill above it, and sundry antiquated mansions 
in antiquated lanes, are the silent witnesses to the fact that the 
ueighborhood has really seen better days. 

We have devoted so much space to the locality because it was 
ihe birthplace and home of Paul Eevere. 

At the time of his memorable ride, Paul Eevere was forty 
years old, and was living in the neighborhood where he was 
born. Though he was brought up to the trade of a goldsmith, 
Revere was one of those skilful mechanics who can turn their 
hands to many things, and having already learned to engrave on 
silver, he took up and soon began to be known as an engraver 




BOSTON FROM BREED's UILL, Uyl. 

on copper-plate, in which art he acquired a rude proficiency. 
Revere, like most of his class, went heart and soul with the 
Whigs when the troubles with the mothei- country drew men to 
one or the other side ; and he very soon became one of the most 
active and daring spirits of a secret organization, composed of 
men like himself, who had sworn on the Bible not to betray 
each other, and whose purpose was to spy out and defeat^ the 
measures of the British Governor-General, cost what it might. 
These men knew nothing and cared nothing about the tricks of 
diplomacy. They were simply anxious to decide all outstanding 
questions by blows, the sooner the better. 

Their meetings were held and their plans concerted at the 



PAUL REVERE S RIDE. 



81 



Green Dragon Tavern in Union Street. They were directed 
how to act for the interests of the common cause by Adams, 
Hancock, Warren, and one or two others of the acknowledged 
leaders. Between Warren and Eevere there grew up a sym- 
pathy so especially close and intimate, that when Adams and 
Hancock left it, and Warren alone remained to observe and 
direct events in the town, Eevere became his chosen lieutenant. 
This brings us to the event recorded in the inscription. 

The Province of INIassachusetts was on the verge of open re- 
volt. It had formed an army, commissioned its officers, and pro- 




SIGN OF THE GREEN DEA60N. 



mulgated orders as if there were no such person as George III. It 
was collecting stores, cannon, and muskets, in anticipation of the 
moment Avhen this army should take the field. It had, moreover, 
given due notice to the British general-in-chief, as well as the 
rest of mankind, that the first movement into the country made 
by the royal troops in force would be considered as an act of hos- 
tility and treated as such. If this was not raising the standard 
of open rebellion, it certainly was something very like it. 

The King had sent General Gage to Boston to put down the 
rebellion there, and he had promised to do it with four bat- 
talions. He was now in Boston with a small army. Yet he 



82 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

hesitated to act. Neither party would recede an inch, yet on 
both sides the commission of an overt act which any moment 
might precipitate war was awaited in the utmost suspense and 
dread. 

At length General Gage resolved to strike a crippling blow, 
and if possible to do it without bloodshed. 

The i^rincipal depot of the patriots was forming at Concord, 
in the County of Middlesex, about twenty miles from Boston, 
where it was considered quite safe from any sudden dash by the 
royal troops. General Gage was kept thoroughly informed by 
his spies of what was going on, and he determined to send a 
secret expedition to destroy those stores. The patriots, on their 
side, knew that something was in agitation, and it was no diffi- 
cult matter for them to guess what was its real purport and aim. 
Still, so long as these remained in doubt, they were anxious 
and fearful and restless. They, however, redoubled their vigi- 
lance. All the landing-places of the town, the soldiers' bar- 
racks, and even the Province House itself, were closely Avatched, 
while guards were regularly kept in all the surrounding towns, 
promptly to give the alarm whenever the head of a British col- 
umn should apjDear. General Gage held the capital of the prov- 
ince, but outside of its gates his orders could be executed only 
at the point of the bayonet. 

Fully appreciating the importance of secrecy, General Gage 
quietly got ready eight hundred picked troops, which he meant 
to convey under cover of the night across the west bay, and 
to land on the Cambridge side, thus baffling the vigilance of 
the townspeople, and at the same time considerably shortening 
the distance his troops would have to march. So much pains 
was taken to keep their actual destination a profound secret, that 
even the officer who was selected for the command only received 
an order notifying him to hold himself in readiness. The guards 
in the town were doubled, and, in order to intercept any couriers 
who might slip through them, at the proper moment mounted 
patrols were sent out on the roads leading to Concord. Having 
done what he could to prevent intelligence from reaching the 



PAUL REVEEE's ride. 



83 



country, and to keep the town quiet, the British General gave 

his orders for the embarkation ; 

and at between ten and eleven 

of the night of April 18th the 

troops destined for this service 

were taken across the bay in 

boats to the Cambridge side 

of the river. At this hour his 

pickets were guarding the de- 
serted roads leading into the 

country, and up to this moment 

no patriot courier had gone out. 

The General had thus got a long 

start of the patriots. But their 

vigilance detected the move- 
ment as soon as it was made. 

As Lord Percy was returning 

from an interview with Gen- 
eral Gage, he met groups of tlie 
townspeople talking excitedly 
together, and upon going near 
enough to overhear the subject 
of conversation, one of them 
said to him defiantly : " The 
British troops have marched, 
but they will miss their aim." 
"What aim?" asked the 
Earl. 

" The cannon at Concord," 
was the reply. 

Percy instantly retraced his 
steps to the Province House. 
After listening in silence to his 
report, the General broke out with, "Then I have been betrayed ! " 
It is now believed that a member of the General's own house- 
hold was the medium through which his secret had become 




GRENADIEK, 1775. 



84 NEW-ENGLAND LECxENDS. 

known to the rebels. Their difficulty now was to transmit the 
news seasonably, to prevent the loss of the provincial magazines. 
There were only two modes of egress from the town, one being by 
the old ferry to Charlestown, the other by the neck connecting 
Boston with the mainland, Avhich was only wide enough for a 
single road. The ferrydanding was kept by a subaltern's guard, 
and it was commanded by the batteries of a frigate anchored 
off in the stream. The road was blocked by a fortress extend- 
ing across it, the gates of Avhich were shut at a certain hour, 
after which no one could pass in or out except by order of the 
General himself. 

To provide against this, Revere, only a day or two earlier, had 
concerted signals which should apprise his friends in Cliarles- 
town whenever a movement of troops was actually taking place. 
When these signals should be displayed, the watchful patriots 
there knew what they had to do. 

The signals agreed upon were lights to be shovm from the 
belfry of the North Church: two if the troops went out by 
water, and one if by land. The redcoats had scarcely got into 
their boats, when Warren sent in great haste for Paul Revere 
and William Dawes. He knew that the crisis had now come. 
Telling them in two words that the soldiers had started, and 
that he feared they meant to seize the patriot leaders, Hancock 
and Adams, he despatched Revere by the way of Charlestown, 
and Dawes by the great high-road over the Neck. In this 
way, should one be stopped, the other might elude the vigi- 
lance of the sentinels and succeed in getting through the lines. 
With the parting injunction in their ears, not to lose a moment, 
the two patriots started on the most momentous errand of the 
century. 

Revere first went to a friend and requested him to show the 
signal, one lantern in the church belfry. He then went home, 
hurried on his riding-boots and surtout, and having picked up 
two friends and a boat, the three stealthily rowed across the 
river, passing unseen under the muzzles of the frigate's guns 
that guarded the ferrv. 



PAUL kevere's ride, 85 

Leaping on shore, Kevere learned that his signal had been 
seen and imderstood. At that very moment its warning beams 
shone from the distant tower. A fleet horse was quickly saddled 
and bridled for him to mount. Eevere seized the bridle, jumped 
into the saddle, and spurred off at the top of his speed for Lex- 
ington, ten miles away, where Hancock and Adams, unconscious 
of danger, were then asleep in their beds. Dawes, too, had for- 
tunately succeeded in evading the sentinels, so that the two were 
now, in the dead of night, galloping on like messengers of fate, 
not sparing either whip or spur, and each nerved by the immi- 
nent peril of the moment to do or dare everything for the sal- 
vation of friends and country. Eevere had hardly got clear of 
Charlestown when a horseman suddenly barred his passage. 
Another rode up, then a third. He had ridden headlong into 
the midst of the British patrol! They closed in upon him. 
But Revere was not the man to be thus taken in a trap without 
a struggle. He quickly pulled up, turned his horse's head, dug 
the spurs into his flanks, and dashed ofl' into a by-road with the 
patrol at his heels. Being the better mounted, he soon distanced 
his pursuers, and in ten minutes more rode into Medford, shout- 
ing like a madman at every house he came to, " Up and arm ! 
Up and arm ! The regulars are out ! The regulars are out ! " 
He awoke the captain of the minute-men, told his startling story 
in a breath, and before the shrill neighing of the excited steed or 
the shouts of the rider had groAvn fiiint in the distance, the Med- 
ford bells began to ring out their wild alarm. When Eevere en- 
tered it, the town was as still as the grave ; he left it in an uproar. 
The regulars were indeed out ; but where 1 By this time they 
should have been well advanced on their marcli, had not an 
excess of caution ruined at the outset every chance of surprising 
the Provincials. Possibly to prevent the expedition's getting 
wind, instead of furnishing the troops with rations before start- 
ing, they had been cooked on board the fleet, and put into the 
boats furnished by the diff'erent ships of war. After landing 
upon the Cambridge marshes, and after floundering through 
water up to the knee, to the shore, the royal troops were kept 



86 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



drawn up in a dirty by-road until two o'clock in the morni.. 

waiting for their provisions to be brought 

from the boats and distributed. To lose 

liours when minutes counted for liours 

was fatal. The three thus idled away 

decided the fate of the expedition. The 

-British grenadiers were still shivering 

on the spot where they disembarked'^ 

when Revere, after raising the country 

in arms, rode into Lexington. It was 

just midnight when he dismounted at 

the door where Hancock and 

Adams were asleep. Pie saw 

that he was in V.. 

time. A patriot _d -.,.. .y" 




J^ 




KEVERE AROUSING THE MINUTE-MAN. 

guard was stationed outside. The drowsy sergeant sharply 
admonished Eevere to make less noise, or he would disturb the 



PAUL kevere's ride. 87 

household. " l^oise ! " exclaimed the thoroughly excited Ee- 
vere ; " you '11 have noise enough before long. The regulars 
are out ! " He was then admitted. 

In the course of half an hour the other express arrived, and the 
two rebel leaders being now fully convinced that Concord was 
the threatened point, after allowing the bold riders the time to 
swallow a few mouthfuls, hurried them on to Concord. Adams 
did not believe that Gage would send an army merely to take 
two men prisoners. To him the true object was very clear. 

Eevere, Dawes, and young Dr. Prescott of Concord, who had 
joined them, had got over half the distance, when at a sudden 
turning tliey saw in the gray light a group of dusky figures 
hlling the road ; at tlie same instant they heard the sharp com- 
mand to halt. It was a second patrol, armed to the teeth. 
Prescott leaped his horse over the roadside wall, and so escaped 
across the fields to Concord. Revere, seeing the muzzle of a 
pistol covering him with sure aim, gave himself up, with the 
better grace now that one of the party had got clear. Dawes did 
the same thing. An otficer then put his cocked pistol to Re- 
vere's head, telling him that he would scatter his brains in the 
road if he did not make true answers. His business on the 
road at that hour was then demanded. He was told, in return, 
to listen ; when, through the still morning air, coming distinct 
and threatening, the distant booming of the alarm-bells, peal 
upon peal, was borne to their ears. Revere then boldly avowed 
his errand to be what it was, significantly adding that the coun- 
try below was up in arms. Another prisoner told the patrol that 
they were all dead men. It was the Britons who were now un- 
easy. One of the rebel couriers had escaped them ; the country 
below them was up ; and there was no news of the troops. Order- 
ing the prisoners to follow them, the troop rode ofl" at a gallop 
toward Lexington, and when they were at the edge of the vil- 
lage Revere was told to dismount, and was then left to shift for 
himself. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him across the 
pastures, back to the parsonage, to report his misadventure, while 
the patrol galloped off toward Boston to announce theirs. 



88 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

By this time the minute-men of Lexington had rallied to op- 
pose the march of the troops. At this hour the alarm had spread 
throughout the surrounding country ; and it was still resound- 
ing, still extending on every side, and multiplying itself like a 
destroying conflagration swept onward by the Avinds. In two 
hours more the whole Province was in flames. Thanks to the in- 
trepidity of Paul Revere the goldsmith, instead of surprising the 
rebels in their beds, the redcoats found them marshalled on Lex- 
ington Green, at Concord Bridge, in front, flank, and rear, armed 
and ready to dispute their march to the bitter end. 

At five in the morning his Majesty's troops by command fired 
upon and killed a number of the citizen soldiers at Lexington ; 
they then gave three loud and triumphant cheers for the vic- 
tory. At fiA^e in the evening General Gage knew that this 
volley had been discharged over the grave of his master's Ameri- 
can empire, which he had promised to preserve with four bat- 
talions ; the yeomanry of one county only had chased six of 
them back to their quarters. 

From this narration it appears that it was not the signal, but 
Revere himself who " warned the country of the march of the 
British troops." Yet had he failed, the result would probably 
have been the same, thanks to his promptitude and his invention 
in this historic emergency. Mr. Longfellow in his famous ballad 
so arranges the scene as to make Revere impatiently watching for 
the signal-light to appear. Revere was the signal. 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Kevere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five ; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend, " If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night, 



PAUL revere's ride. 89 

Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 

Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — 

One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 

And I on the opposite shore will he, 

Ready to ride and spread the alarm 

Through every Middlesex village and farm, 

For the country folk to be up and to arm." 

Then he said " Good night ! " and with muffled oar 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 

Just as the moon rose over the bay, 

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

The " Somerset," British man-of-war ; 

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 

Across the moon like a prison bar, 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side. 
Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns. 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark. 

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 

Struck out b}^ a steed flying fearless and fleet : 

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, 



90 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight. 

Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 



It was one by the village clock, 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 

Graze at him with a spectral glare, 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 



You know the rest. In the books you have read. 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — : 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball. 
From behind each fence and farmyard wall, 
Chasing the redcoats down the lane. 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road. 
And only pausing to fire and load. 



PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 

BY WILLIAM AUSTIN. 

{From Jonathan Dumvell of Nevj York to Mr. Herman Krauff.) 

Sirj, — Agreeably to my promise, I now relate to you all 
the particulars of the lost man and child which I have 
been able to collect. It is entirely owing to the humane inter- 
est you. seemed to take in the report that I have pursued the 
inquiry to the following result. 



PETEK EUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 91 

You may remember that business called me to Boston in the 
summer of 1820. I sailed in the packet to Providence; and 
when I arrived there, I learned that every seat in the stage was 
engaged. I was thus obliged either to wait a few hours, or ac- 
cept a seat with the driver, who civilly ofiered me that accom- 
modation. Accordingly I took my seat by his side, and soon 
found him intelligent and communicative. When we had trav- 
elled about ten miles, the horses suddenly threw their ears on 
their necks as flat as a hare's. Said the driver, " Have you a 
surtout with you 1 " 

" No," said I ; " why do you ask 1 " 

" You will want one soon," said he. " Do you observe the 
ears of all the horses 1 " 

" Yes ; " and was just about to ask the reason. 

" They see the storm-breeder, and we shall see him soon." 

At this moment there was not a cloud visible in the firma- 
ment ; soon after a small speck appeared in the road. 

" There," said my companion, " comes the storm-breeder ; 
he always leaves a Scotch mist behind him. By many a wet 
jacket do I remember him. I suppose the poor fellow suffers 
much himself — much more than is known to the world." 

Presently a man with a child beside him, with a large black 
horse and a weatlier-beaten chair, once built for a chaise-body, 
passed in great haste, apparently at the rate of t^velve miles an 
hour. He seemed to grasp the reins of his horse with firmness, 
and appeared to anticipate his speed. He seemed dejected, and 
looked anxiously at the passengers, particularly at the stage-driver 
and myself. In a moment after he passed us, the horses' ears 
were up, and bent themselves forward so that they nearly met. 

" Who is that man 1 " said I ; "he seems in great trouble." 

" Nobody knows who he is ; but his person and the child are 
familiar to me. I have met him more than a hundred times, 
and have been so often asked the way to Boston by that man, 
even when he was travelling directly from that town, that of 
late I have refused any communication with him ; and that is 
the reason he gave me such a fixed look." 



PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 93 

"But does he never stop anywhere 1 " 

" I have never known him to stop anywhere longer than to 
inquire the way to Boston. And let him be where he may, he 
will tell you he cannot stay a moment, for he must reach Boston 
that night." 

We were now ascending a high hill in Walpole ; and as we 
had a fair view of the heavens, I was rather disposed to jeer 
the driver for thinking of his surtout, as not a cloud as big as 
a marble could be discerned. 

"Do you look," said he, "in the direction whence the man 
came ; that is the place to look. The storm never meets him, 
it follows him." 

We presently approached another hill ; and when at the 
height the driver pointed out in an eastern direction a little 
black speck about as big as a hat, — " There," said he, "is the 
seed storm; we may possibly reach Policy's before it reaches 
us, but the wanderer and his child will go to Providence 
through rain, thunder, and lightning." 

And now the horses, as though taught by instinct, hastened 
with increased speed. The little black cloud came on rolling 
over the turnpike, and doubled and trebled itself in all direc- 
tions. The appearance of this cloud attracted the notice of all 
the passengers; for after it had spread itself to a great bulk, 
it suddenly became more limited in circumference, grew more 
compact, dark, and consolidated. And now the successive flashes 
of chain lightning caused the whole cloud to appear like a sort 
of irregular network, and displayed a thousand fantastic images. 
The driver bespoke my attention to a remarkable configuration 
in the cloud ; he said every flash of lightning near its centre 
discovered to him distinctly the form of a man sitting in an 
open carriage drawn by a black horse. But in truth 1 saw no 
such thing. The man's fancy was doubtless at fault. It is a 
very common thing for the imagination to paint for the senses, 
both in the visible and invisible world. 

In the mean time the distant thunder gave notice of a shower 
at hand ; and just as we reached Policy's tavern the rain poured 



94 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



down in torrents. It was soon over, tlie cloud passing in the 
direction of the turnpike toward Providence. In a few moments 
after, a respectable-looking man in a chaise stopped at the door. 
The man and child in the chair having excited some little sym- 
pathy among the passengers, the gentleman was asked if he 
had observed them. He said he had met them ; that the man 




EQUESTRIANS. 

seemed bewildered, and inquired the way to Boston ; that he 
was driving at great speed, as though he expected to outstrip 
the tempest ; that the moment he had passed him, a thunder- 
clap broke directly over the man's head, and seemed to envelop 
both man and child, horse and carriage. " I stopped," said the 
gentleman, " supposing the lightning had struck him ; but the 
horse only seemed to loom up and increase his speed ; and as 



PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 



95 



well as I could judge, he travelled just as fast as the thunder- 
cloud." 

While this man was speaking, a pedlar with a cart of tin 
merchandise came up all dripping ; and on being questioned, 
he said he had met that man and carriage, within a fortnight, 
in four different States ; that at each time he had inquired the 
way to Boston, and that a thunder-shower, like the present, 
had each time deluged his wagon and his wares, setting his tin 
pots, etc., afloat, so that he had determined to get marine insur- 
ance done for the future. But that which excited his surprise 
most was the strange conduct of his horse ; for that long before 
he could distinguish the 
man in the chair, his own 
horse stood still in the 
road, and flung back his 
ears. "In short," said the 
pedlar, " I wish never to 
see that man and horse 
again; they do not look 
to me as though they be- 
longed to this world." 

This was all I could 
learn at that time ; and 
the occurrence soon after 
would have become with 
me " like one of those 

things Avhich had never happened," had I not, as I stood recently 
on the doorstep of Bennett's Hotel in Hartford, heard a man 
say, " There goes Peter Eugg and his child ! He looks wet and 
weary, and farther from Boston than ever." I was satisfied it 
was the same man I had seen more than three years before ; for 
whoever has once seen Peter Rugg can never after be deceived 
as to his identity. 

" Peter Eugg ! " said I ; " and who is Peter Eugg 1 " 
" That," said the stranger, " is more than any one can tell 
exactly. He is a famous traveller, held in light esteem by all 




HACKNEY-COACH. 



96 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

inu-holders, for he never stops to eat, drink, or sleep. I wonder 
why the Government does not employ him to carry the mail." 

"Ay," said a bystander; "that is a thought bright only on 
one side. How long would it take in that case to send a letter 
to Boston 1 — for Peter has already, to my knowledge, been more 
tlian twenty years travelling to that place." 

"But," said I, "does the man never stop anywhere 1 Does he 
never converse with any one 1 I saw the same man more than 
three years since near Providence, and I heard a strange story 
about him. Pray, sir, give me some account of this man." 

"Sir," said the stranger, "those who know the most respect- 
ing that man say the least. I have heard it asserted that 
Heaven sometimes sets a mark on a man either for judgment 
or a trial. Under which Peter Rugg now labors, I cannot say ; 
therefore I am rather inclined to pity than to judge." 

" You speak like a humane man," said I ; " and if you have 
known him so long, I pray you will give me some account of 
him. Has his appearance much altered in that time?" 

" Why, yes ; he looks as though he never ate, drank, or slept ; 
and his child looks older than himself ; and he looks like time 
broken off from eternity, and anxious to gain a resting-place." 
" And how does iiis horse look 1 " said I. 

" As for his horse, he looks fatter and gayer, and shoAvs more 
animation and courage, than he did twenty years ago. The last 
time Rugg spoke to me he inquired how far it was to Boston. 
I told him just one hundred miles. 

" 'Why,' said he, ' how can you deceive me sol It is cruel 
to mislead a traveller. I have lost my way ; pray direct me the 
nearest way to Boston.' 

" I repeated, it was one hundred miles. 

" ' How can you say so 1 ' said he ; 'I was told last evening 
it was but fifty, and I have travelled all night.' 

" ' But,' said I, ' you are now travelling from Boston. You 
must turn back.' 

" ' Alas ! ' said he, ' it is all turn back ! Boston shifts with 
the wind, and plays all around the compass. One man teUs 



PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 97 

me it is to the east, another to the west ; and the guide-posts, 
too, they all point the wrong way.' 

"'But will you not stop and rest?' said I; ' you seem wet 
and weary.' 

" * Yes,' said he ; ' it has been foul weather since I left home.' 

" ' Stop, then, and refresh yourself 

" ' I must not stop ; I must reach home to-night, if possible ; 
though I tliiuk you must be mistaken in the distance to 
Boston.' 

" He then gave the reins to his horse, which he restrained with 
difficulty, and disappeared in a moment. A few days afterward 
I met the man a little this side of Claremont, winding around 
the hills in Unity, at the rate, I believe, of twelve miles an 
hour." 

" Is Peter Eugg his real name, or has he accidentally gained 
that name ? " 

" I know not, but presume he will not deny his name ; you 
can ask him — for see, he has turned his horse, and is passing 
this way." 

In a moment a dark-colored, high-spirited horse approached, 
and would have passed without stopping ; but I had resolved to 
speak to Peter Rugg, or whoever the man might be. Accord- 
ingly I stepped into the street, and as the horse approached, I 
made a feint of stopping him. The man immediately reined in 
his horse. "Sir," said I, "may I be so bold as to inquire if 
you are not Mr. Ruggi — for I think I have seen you before." 

" My name is Peter Eugg," said he : " I have unfortunately 
lost my way. I am wet and weary, and will take it kindly of 
you to direct me to Boston." 

" You live in Boston, do you 1 — and in what street 1 " 

" In Middle Street." 

" When did you leave Boston 1 " 

" I cannot tell precisely ; it seems a considerable time." 

" But how did you and your child become so wet 1 It has 
not rained here to-day." 

" It has just rained a heavy shower up the river. But I shall 

7 



98 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

not reach Boston to-night if I tarry. Would you advise me to 
take the old road, or the turnpike 1 " 

" Why, the old road is one hundred and seventeen miles, and 
the turnpike is ninety-seven." 

" How can you say so 1 You impose on me ! It is wrong 
to trifle with a traveller. You know it is but forty miles from 
Newburyport to Boston." 

" But this is not Newburyport ; this is Hartford." 

" Do not deceive me, sir. Is not this town Newburyport, 
and the river that I have been following the Merrimac 1 " 

" No, sir ; this is Hartford, and the river the Connecticut." 

He wrung his hands and looked incredulous. 

" Have the rivers, too, changed their courses, as the cities 
have changed places 1 But see ! the clouds are gathering in the 
south, and we shall have a rainy night. Ah, that fatal oath ! " 

He would tarrj^ no longer. His impatient horse leaped off, 
his hind flanks rising like wings ; he seemed to devour all 
before him, and to scorn all behind. 

I had now, as I thought, discovered a clew to the history of 
Peter Eugg, and I determined, the next time my business called 
me to Boston, to make a further inquiry. Soon after, I was 
enabled to collect the following particulars from Mrs. Croft, an 
aged lady in Middle Street, who has resided in Boston during 
the last twenty years. Her narration is this : 

The last summer, a person, just at twilight, stopped at the 
door of the late Mrs. Rugg. Mrs. Croft, on coming to the door, 
perceived a stranger, with a child by his side, in an old weather- 
beaten carriage, with a black horse. The stranger asked for Mrs. 
Rugg, and was informed that Mrs. Rugg had died in a good old 
age more than twenty years before that time. 

The stranger replied, "How can you deceive me sol Do ask 
Mrs. Rugg to step to the door." 

" Sir, I assure you Mrs. Rugg has not lived here these nine- 
teen years ; no one lives here but myself, and my name is 
Betsey Croft." 

The stranger paused, and looked up and down the street, and 



PETEK RUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 99 

said : " Though the painting is rather faded, this looks like my 
house." 

" Yes," said the child ; " tliat is the stone before the door that 
I used to sit on to eat my bread and milk." 

" But," said the stranger, "it seems to be on the wrong side 
of the street. Indeed everything here seems to be misplaced. 
The streets are all changed, the people are all changed, the town 
seems changed ; and, what is strangest of all, Catherine Rugg has 
deserted her husband and child. Pray," continued the stranger, 
" has John Foy come home from sea 1 He went a long voyage ; 
he is my kinsman. If I could see him, he could give me some 
account of Mrs. Eugg." 

•" Sir," said Mrs. Croft, " I never heard of John Foy. Where 
did he live 1 " 

" Just above here, in Orange Tree Lane." 

" There is no sucli place in this neighborhood." 

"What do you tell niel Are the streets gone 1 Orange Tree 
Lane is at the head of Hanover Street, near Pemberton's Hill." 

" There is no such lane now." 

" Madam ! you cannot be serious. But you doubtless know 
my brother, William Rugg. He lives in Royal Exchange Lane, 
near King Street." 

" I know of no such lane, and I am sure there is no such 
street as King Street in this town." 

" jSTo such street as King Street ! Why, woman, you mock 
me ! You may as well tell me there is no King George ! How- 
ever, madam, you see I am wet and weary ; I must find a resting- 
place. I will go to Hart's tavern, near the market." 

"Which market, sir? — for you seem perplexed; we have 
several markets." 

" You know there is but one market, — near the Town dock." 

"Oh, the old market; but no such person has kept there 
these twenty years." 

Here the stranger seemed disconcerted, and uttered to himself 
quite audibly : " Strange mistake! How much this looks like 
the town of Boston ! It certainly has a great resemblance to 



100 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



it; but I perceive my mistake now. Some other Mrs. Eugg, 
some other Middle Street." 

"Then," said he, "madam, can you direct me to Boston 1" 

" Why, this is Boston, the city of Boston. I know of no 
other Boston." 

" City of Boston it may be ; but it is not the Boston where 
I live. I recollect now, I came over a bridge instead of a ferry. 
Pray what bridge is that I just came over ] " 

" It is Charles Eiver Bridge." 

" I perceive my mistake ; there is a ferry between Boston and 
Charlestown ; there is no bridge. Ah, I perceive my mistake. 




MAKKET-WOIIAN. 



If 1 were in Boston my horse would carry me directly to my 
own door. But my horse sliows by his impatience that he is 
in a strange place. Absurd, that I should have mistaken this 
place for the old town of Boston ! It is a much finer city than 
the town of Boston. It has been built long since Boston. I 
fancy it must lie at a distance from this city, as the good woman 
seems ignorant of it." 

At these words his horse began to cliafe and strike the pave- 
ment with his fore-feet. The stranger seemed a little bewildered, 
and said, " No home to-night ; " and giving the reins to his horse, 
passed up the street, and I saw no more of him. 



PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 101 

It was evident that the generation to which Peter Pa;gg 
belonged had passed away. 

This was all the account of Peter Riigg I could obtain from 
Mrs. Croft ; but she directed me to an elderly man, ]\Ir. James 
Felt, who lived near her, and who had kept a record of the prin- 
cipal occurrences for the last fifty years. At my request she sent 
for him ; and after I had related to him the object of my inquiry, 
Mr. Felt told me he had known Rugg in his youth ; that his 
disappearance had caused some surprise; but as it sometimes 
happens that men run away, sometimes to be rid of others, and 
sometimes to be rid of themselves; and Rugg took his child 
with him, and his own horse and chair; and as it did not 
appear that any creditors made a stir, — the occurrence soon 
mingled itself in the stream of oblivion, and Rugg and his 
child, horse and chair, were soon forgotten. 

" It is true," said Mr. Felt, " sundry stories grew out of Rugg's 
affair, — whether true or false I cannot tell ; but stranger things 
have happened in my day, without even a newspaper notice." 

" Sir," said I, " Peter Rugg is now living; I have lately seen 
Peter Rugg and his child, horse, and chair. Therefore I pray 
you to relate to me all you know or ever heard of him." 

"Why, my friend," said James Felt, "that Peter Rugg is 
now a living man, I will not deny; but that you have seen 
Peter Rugg and his child is impossible, if you mean a small 
child ; for Jenny Rugg, if living, must be at least — let me see 
— Boston Massacre, 1770 — Jenny Rugg was about ten years 
old. Why, sir, Jenny Rugg, if living, must be more than sixty 
years of age. That Peter Rugg is living, is highly probable, as 
he was only ten years older than myself, and I was only eighty 
last March ; and I am as likely to live twenty years longer as any 
man." 

Here I perceived that Mr. Felt was in his dotage; and I 
despaired of gaining any intelligence from him on which I 
could depend. 

I took my leave of Mrs. Croft, and proceeded to my lodgings 
at the Marlborough Hotel. 



102 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

If Peter Rugg, thought I, has been travelling since the Boston 
Massacre, there is no reason why he should not travel to the 
end of time. If the present generation know little of hiru, the 
next will know less ; and Peter and his child will have no hold 
on this world. 

In the course of the evening I related my adventure in 
Middle Street. 

" Ha ! " said one of the company, smiling, " do you really 
think you have seen Peter Rugg ] I have heard my grandfather 
speak of him as though he seriously believed his own story." 

" Sir," said I, " pray let us compare your grandfather's story 
of Mr. Rugg with my own. " 

" Peter Rugg, sir, if my grandfother was worthy of credit, 
once lived in Middle Street, in this city. He was a man in 
comfortable circumstances, had a wife and one daughter, and 
was generally esteemed for his sober life and manners. But, 
unhappily, his temjDer at times was altogether ungovernable ; 
and then his language was terrible. In these fits of passion, 
if a door stood in his way, he would never do less than kick 
a panel through. He would sometimes throw his heels over 
his head and come down on his feet, uttering oaths in a circle; 
and thus in a rage he was the first who performed a somerset, 
and did what others have since learned to do for merriment and 
money. Once Rugg was seen to bite a tenpenny nail in halves. 
In those days everybody, both men and boys, wore wigs ; and 
Peter, at these moments of violent passion, would become so 
profane that his wig would rise up from his head. Some said 
it was on account of his terrible language ; others accounted 
for it in a more philosophical way, and said it was caused by 
the expansion of his scalp, — as violent passion, we know, will 
swell the veins and expand the head. While these fits were 
on him Rugg had no respect for heaven or earth. Except this 
infirmity, all agreed that Rugg was a good sort of man ; for 
when his fits were over, nobody was so ready to commend a 
placid temper as Peter. 

" It was late in autumn, one morning, that Rugg, in his own 



PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 



103 



chair, with a fine large bay horse, took his daughter and pro- 
ceeded to Concord. On his return a violent storm overtook 
him. At dark he stopped in Menotomy, now "West Cambridge, 
at the door of a Mr. Cutter, a friend of his, who urged him 
to tarry the night. On Rugg's declining to stop, Mr. Cutter 
urged him vehemently. ' Why, Mr. Rugg,' said Cutter, ' the 
storm is overwhelming you : the night is exceeding dark : your 
little daughter will perish : you are in an open chair, and the 
tempest is increasing.' ' Let the storm increase,^ said Rugg, with 
a fearful oath ; ' / will see home to-night, in spite of the last tem- 
pest, or may I never see home I ' At these words he gave his 
whip to his high-spirited horse, and disappeared in a moment. 




BOSTON TRUCK. 



But Peter Rugg did not reach home that night, or the next ; 
nor, when he became a missing man, could he ever be traced 
beyond Mr. Cutter's in Menotomy. 

" For a long time after, on every dark and stormy night, the 
wife of Peter Rugg would fancy she heard the, crack of a whip, 
and the fleet tread of a horse, and the rattling of a carriage 
passing her door. The neighbors, too, heard the same noises ; 
and some said they knew it was Rugg's horse, the tread on 
the pavement was perfectly familiar to them. This occurred so 
repeatedly, that at length the neighbors watched with lanterns, 
and saw the real Peter Rugg, with his own horse and chair, 
and child sitting beside him, pass directly before his own door, 
his head turned toward his house, and himself making every 
effort to stop his horse, but in vain. 



104 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

" The next day the friends of Mrs. Eugg exerted themselves 
to find her husband and child. They inquired at every public- 
house and stable in town ; but it did not appear that Eugg 
made any stay in Boston. Xo one, after Eugg had passed his 
own door, could give any account of him ; though it was asserted 
by some that the clatter of Eugg's horse and carriage over the 
pavements shook the houses on both sides of the streets. And 
this is credible, if indeed Eugg's horse and carriage did pass on 
that night. For at this day, in many of the streets, a loaded 
truck or team in passing will shake the houses like an earth- 
quake. However, Eugg's neighbors never afterward watched ; 
some of them treated it all as a delusion, and thought no more 
of it. Others, of a different opinion, shook their heads and said 
nothing. 

" Thus Rugg and his child, horse and chair, were soon for- 
gotten, and probably many in the neighborhood never heard a 
word on the subject. 

" There was, indeed, a rumor that Eugg afterward was seen 
in Connecticut, between Suflfield and Hartford, passing through 
the country with headlong speed. This gave occasion to Eugg's 
friends to make further inc[uiry. But the more they inquired, 
the more they were baffled. If they heard of Eugg one day in 
Connecticut, the next they heard of him winding round the 
hills in New Hampshire ; and soon after, a man in a chair with 
a small child, exactly answering the description of Peter Eugg, 
would be seen in Ehode Island inquiring the Avay to Boston. 

" But that which chiefly gave a color of mystery to the story 
of Peter Eugg was the affair at Charlestown Bridge. The toll- 
gatherer asserted that sometimes on the darkest and most stormy 
nights, when no object could be discerned, about the time Eugg 
was missing, a horse and wheel carriage, with a noise equal to 
a troop, would at midnight, in utter contempt of the rates of 
toll, pass over the bridge. This occurred so frequently, that 
the toll-gatherer resolved to attempt a discovery. Soon after, 
at the usual time, apparently the same horse and carriage 
approached the bridge from Charlestown Square. The toll- 



A LEGEND OF THE OLD ELM. 105 

gatherer, prepared, took his stand as near the middle of the 
bridge as he dared, with a large three-legged stool in his hand. 
As the appearance passed, he threw the stool at the horse, but 
heard nothing, except the noise of the stool skipping across the 
bridge. The toll-gatherer, on the next day, asserted that the 
stool went directly through the body of the horse ; and he per- 
sisted in that belief ever after. Whether Itugg, or whoever the 
person was, ever passed the bridge again, the toll-gatherer would 
never tell ; and when questioned, seemed anxious to waive the 
subject. And thus Peter Eugg and his child, horse and car- 
riage, remain a mystery to this day." 

This, sir, is all that I could learn of Peter Eugg in Boston. 



A LEGEND OF THE OLD ELM. 

BY ISAAC McLELLAN, Jr. 

MIKE WILD was a substantial grocer, and flourished in 
the good old days of Boston. He has for many years 
been peacefully gathered to his fathers, as a small gray tablet, 
very much defaced by the hand of time and the idle schoolboy, 
will testify. This nieuiorial of Mr. Wild's mortality may be 
seen by the curious antiquary in the Old Granary Churchyard, 
bearing a pithy inscription, which denotes the years and days of 
Mike's mortal career, and if; disfigured by the customary cherub 
and seraph of churchyard sculpture. 

Mike was known to be a hard man, miserly and penurious ; 
but it was never clearly proved that he was dishonest. If his 
crafty and calculating spirit could discriminate nicely between 
a sure and a doubtful speculation, it could determine with equal 
accuracy how far to overreach his neighbor, and yet escape the 
hazard of becoming obnoxious to the charge of fraud. But he 
valued himself most upon his shrewdness and caution, profess- 
ing to hold in utter contempt the folly of credulity ; and when 



106 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

he read or heard of any imposition practised upon his neigh- 
bors, he used to say : " Follvs must be up betimes to overreach 
Mike Wild." 

One stormy evening, about the close of the autumn of 1776, 
Mike was enjoying his customary household comforts, his can 
and pipe, in the little back parlor of his dwelling, Number — , 
North End, being the house next to that occupied by Mr. 
Peter Rugg, famous in story. The night was dark without as 
the " throat of the black wolf," and as turbulent as that animal 
when a long snow-storm upon the hills has driven him mad 
with famine. 

This obscure chamber was the theatre of his earthly felicity. 
It was here that he counted over his accumulating gains, with 
every returning night ; indulged in the precious remembrance 
of past success, and rioted in the golden visions of future pros- 
perity. Therefore with this room were associated all the pleas- 
ing recollections of his life. 

It was the only green spot in his memory, - — the refreshing 
oasis in the barren desert of his aftections. It was there alone 
that the solitary gleam of consolation touched and melted the 
ice of his soul. It was natural, then, considering his selfish 
nature, that he should keep it sacred and inviolate. The foot 
of wife or child was never permitted to invade this sanctum. 
Such approach on their part would have been deemed high 
treason, and punished as such without " benefit of clergy." 
Such intrusion by a neighbor would have been deemed a decla- 
ration of hostilities, and would have been warmly repelled. It 
were, indeed, safer to have bearded the lion in his den or the 
puissant Douglas in his hall ; for Mike possessed all those phys- 
ical virtues which can keep the head from harm, if at any time 
the absence of better qualities provoke assault. 

The besom of the thrifty housewife never disturbed the ven- 
erable dust and cobwebs that supplied its only tapestry. From 
generation to generation the spider had reigned unmolested in 
the corners and crevices of the wall ; and so long had the terri- 
tory been held and transmitted from sire to son, that if a title 



A LEGEND OF THE OLD ELM. 



107 



by prescription could ever avail against the practical argument 
of the broom, there was little fear of a process of ejectment. 

As the old lamp at the gate creaked dismally, and the crazy 
shutters of his chamber rattled still more noisily in the wind, 
the mercury of Mike's spirits rose higher, — a physical phenom- 
enon not easily explained. Perhaps, as the elemental war grew 
sharper, his own nature grew more benign in the consciousness 
that a secure shelter was interposed between his own head and 
the elements. 

The last drops 
of good liquor 
had disappeared 
from Mike's sil- 
ver tankard, the 
last wavering 
wreath of smoke 
had dissolved in 
the air, and the 
didl embers of 
his hearth were 
fast dying away 
in the white ash- 
es, when Mike, 
upon raising his 
eyes suddenly, 

was much startled to observe that he had company in his solitude. 
He rubbed his eyes and shook himself, to ascertain his personal 
identity ; but still the large, strong figure of a man was seated in 
the old leather chair directly opposite to him. Whence he came, 
by what means he had entered, what were his purposes, were 
mysteries too deep for Mike's faculties at that time to fathom. 
There he sat, however, motionless as a statue, with his arms 
folded, and a pair of large, lustrous black eyes fastened full 
upon him. There was a complete ftiscination in that glance, 
Avhich sent a thrill through his whole frame, and held him as 
with an iron chain to his chair. 




CHAISE, me. 



108 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Mike, like a good general, soon rallied liis routed faculties, 
reanimated his fugitive thoughts, and resolved, though possess- 
ing a faint heart, to show a bold front, — a cheat often prac- 
tised by better tacticians. He thereupon plucked up heroism, 
and soon ascertained that his visitor was of very aifable and 
benignant bearing. 

He communicated his business briefly, in wliich virtue of 
brevity we shall condescend to be an imitator. He revealed 
that he was indeed of unearthly nature, — a disembodied spirit, 
and that during his earthly sojourn he had secreted a most 
precious treasure, which had been unlawfully acquired, under 
the Old Elm Tree in the centre of the Common. He could not 
rest quietly in the grave until he had imparted the secret to 
some human being ; and as Mike was a man after his own heart, 
he had selected him as the object of his bounty. jNIike thanked 
him sincerely for the compliment and kindness, and promised 
to go forth without delay in search of the treasure. He sallied 
forth with his " spiritual guide," his mind intoxicated with the 
thought of the heavy ingots, and the bars of gold, and the rich 
foreign coin which he believed would be shortly his own. The 
night was black and rainy ; the scattered sleet swept furiously 
along the streets, pursued by the screaming wind ; but the 
wrath of the elements was disarmed by the glorious vision of 
riches and honor which possessed him. 

They arrived at length, after much wading and tribulation, 
at the Old Elm, now the trysting-place of young people on the 
days of Election festivity. In those days it was sometimes 
used as a gallows, for want of a better ; and it is said, at this 
very day, that on dark and tempestuous nights the ghosts of 
those who perished on its branches are seen swinging and heard 
creaking in the wind, still struggling in the last throe and 
torment of dissolution, in expiation of crimes committed long 
ago. 

"When Mike paused at the roots of the old tree, he requested 
his guide to designate the particular spot that contained the 
treasure ; but receiving no response to this very natural inquiry. 



A LEGEND OF THE OLD ELM. 



109 



he looked round and saw that his genius had vanished " into 
the air," probably like Macbeth's witches. He was not to be 
disheartened or daunted, however ; so he resolutely commenced 
delving, with the zeal of an ardent money- 
digger. He turned up many a good rood 
of soil without meeting the precious ore, , 
when his fears got the better of his dis- 
cretion, and his fimcy busily peopled the 
obscure tops and limbs of the old tree with 
all mmnei of j^ioteoque shapes and gib 




THE MONEY-DIGGER. 



bering monsters, and he fancied that the evil spirits of de- 
parted malefactors were celebrating their festival orgies, and 
making merry with their infernal dances around him. 



110 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

His fear had increased to agony. The spade dropped from 
his powerless hand, his hair bristled with terror, and his great 
eyes nearly leaped from his head in his endeavor to penetrate 
the gloom that surrounded him. Once more his mysterious 
guide stood before him ; but one glance of his awfully altered 
face completed the climax of his fright. Those large black, 
lustrous eyes now kindled like two balls of flame ; and as their 
tiendish lustre glared upon him, he shrank back as from a 
scorching flame. A nose, enormous and rubicund as the car- 
buncle of the East, protruded many a rood from the face of 
his evil spirit, and immense whiskers, rough and shaggy as the 
lion's mane, flowed around his visage. The gold-monster con- 
tinued to frown upon him fearfully, till at length the bewildered 
eyes of Mike could look no longer, and he fell to the earth 
utterly senseless. 

When Mike awoke, the morning sun was looking cheerfully 
into his own chamber window, and the birds that make merry 
in every bright summer morning were singing gayly on tlie 
house-eaves above his head. He rubbed his eyes in astonish- 
ment, and was in doubt whether he had not lost his senses, or 
whether the visitor, the money, the walk of midnight, and the 
horrible goblin, were not all the mere creations of a th-eam. 

While lost in these doubts and difficulties, a neighbor oppor- 
tunely stepped in, to whom he related the Avhole scene, adding 
at the same time suitable embellishments to the appearance of 
the fiend-like apparition which had haunted him. 

His friend heard him for some time expatiate on the miracu- 
lous adventure, but at length could preserve his gravity no 
longer, and burst forth in a loud ha ! ha ! ha ! When he had 
recovered sufficient breath to articulate, he confessed to the 
electrified Mike that his visitor was no other than himself, and 
that he had practised the hoax in order to decide a wager with 
mine host of the Boar's Head, who had bet a dozen of his 
choicest bin that no one could get the better of shrewd Mike 
Wild of the North End. 



KOXBURY PUDDING-STONE. 



Ill 



ROXBURY PUDDING-STONE. 



IJSr those pleasant suburban districts 
formerly the towns of Eoxbury 
and Dorchester, the rock everywhere 
seen in the roadside walls and 
outcropping ledges is the very curi- 
ous conglomerate familiarly knoAvn 
as pudding-stone ; so called, no 
doubt, on account of the pebbles 
that are imbedded so solidly within 
the cooled mass as now to form a 
part of it. Eejecting all scientific 
hypotheses in favor of a legend, 
the genial Dr. Holmes accounts for 
the geological phenomenon in his 
own felicitous way in the "Dorches- 
ter Giant," thus enabling us to conclude 
with the customary geological description. 



of Boston that were 






11 



I I-/ 



V 



OLD MILE-STONE. 

our historical piecus 



THE DORCHESTER GIANT. 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

There was a Giant in time of old, 

A mighty one was he ; 
He had a wife, but she was a scold, 
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold ; 

And he had children three. 

Then the Giant took his children three, 

And fastened them in the pen ; 
The children roared ; quoth the Giant, " Be still ! " 
And Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill 

Eolled back the sound again. 



112 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Then he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums, 

As big as the State-House dome ; 
Quoth he, " There 's something for you to eat ; 
So stop your mouths with your 'lection treat. 

And wait till your dad comes home." 



What are those loved ones doing now. 

The wife and children sad ? 
Oh, they are in a terrible rout, 
Screaming and throwing their pudding about, 

Acting as they were mad. 

They flung it over to Roxbury hills, 

They fluiig it over the plain. 
And all over Milton and Dorchester too, 
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw, 

They tumbled as thick as rain. 



And if, some pleasant afternoon. 

You '11 ask nie out to ride. 
The whole of the story I will tell. 
And you may see where the puddings fell, 

And pay for the punch beside. 



V , 




CAMBEIDGE LEGENDS. 




TPIE WASHINGTON ELM. 



THIS patriarch among trees is one of those perishable his- 
toric objects we can still point to with a feeling of satis- 
faction that it continues in the enjoyment of a vigorous old age. 
Long live the Washington Elm ! It has survived the renowned 
Charter Oak, it outlives its venerated neighbor, the Boston Elm ; 
and, though much shattered '' alow and aloft," it bids fair to 
round the century with head proudly erect, as the living link 
joining the settlement of the country with the era of its greatest 
prosperity. 

The historic elm-tree stands in the public highway, by the 
side of the Common, in the city of Cambridge. The Common 
was the training-field of the first republican army, formed almost 
as if by magic, in the years '75 and '76, of glorious memory. 
Beyond the elm of renown, on the other side, are the quaint 
old College buildings, which then served as barracks for this 
army ; while scattered round about the neighborhood are many 
of the residences that the chances of war turned into quarters 
for the officers when they were vacated in a hurry by their 
Tory owners. So that many vestiges of those stirring times 
remain to attract the visitor to one of the most historic places 
of the Commonwealth. 

Many pilgrims wend their way to the spot where the massive 
old tree-truuk — the Washington Elm — shakes out its annual 



I ic. 



NKW KNiM.ANI' I.KdKNUM. 



roliiii',0, lli:il 1-i liK«i llio i\ \ rliiiv'iiiv-', iiihl cluilcnii'.' .ilxuil a nun. 
A.H a tr(<o, it wtMiltl lio .-itii-it li> cuiiuimihl uII(MiIumi i>u lu'cotnil. ut' 
it.H ii|t|>iinMil m'oi\l ii,m' ; lull it i.'i .Miitiit»tliiii^ iiuin' lltiiii a Iroo. 
Silciil wiliiKMs III all I III' ;icoinvi Itial lia\i> Imon (Miafloil ln'io 
Hliu'o llio wliilo MUMi linil I'oi'cod tlipir \va\ lliiKii^h liio lliit'lvt>trt 
oovori\»|^ (lio ;tun'(>uiultu^ |>laiM, it in a.-i iimch an nl«|0(l \A' vi'ii 
oraliKii 111 (lio (Mli:'iiHM an il" il wpip nvillv aMo l,> iiuparl wlial 




rill' \\ VSUIMil'ON KIM, 



It luwl soon. May U-. .-.liailow uovor Ix' li-.-.s ' Il saw tlio inns 
toriu^" i»t" llu> raw rrv>\nhial li'\ los i'oillu' si'voii vivivs' inanli 
t*> Y<>rktown i U lias liooii I'lacki'iUHl l>v * aiinou siuoko, lia.s soon 
th«» ^liltonu}^ oi»\-lo of ramp fill's li^^liling tlio \o\\^ lino ot" an 
invoHtinji nruiy utouilily tightoninj,' ilsooils t»l>onl tlio lu'loaguoit'il 
oupitul, l»ut »<no thinv,', abovo v>tl»oi's, iuvosts it willi a vrauilrur 
iusoptimblo IVvMu Imii who was tlu^ nohU'st ICoiuan I't' lluiu all. 



TMIC WAHM/N'/ION KJ,M, I )'/ 

Tlx) inwif'ij/Uon (>l(i<;'r<l nl iin- \niw i,i' Uiu U'i;i; l,<',ll« U((j wJiolo 

I.UIil'.U IHIH '((ICC, 
WArt((( '»(>'( OfX 

III' lUK 
Ai^I'Mli ,\^ AUMY, 

,niij\ H", nit,, 



•nil. vvA;iiii:.'f;'io;; i;i,m, 

W';(t(;H ! wr;;'/l», 0)/| 'I'lvA; I '/'l(';i( l/((.«l, «(( nH\ii-i;i, lair, 
A vip{*>»''>u» Ik'hH, u l«!(iv«r()-<if«|»(('i(/}{ <;('<•«!. ; 

A/I'l f.|(;«!)/|('.R« KK'dlocii't. (,r U/c, r|(iy« U(/tt, W<'l'«?, 
I/'»<I;;;<; id Uiy \iiiiiii;\ti-M, I'lki; U/f n'>(i(,i; l/inl'w iu'mI. 

WnitU'.] ^ivt: (|« wr(»'(|»I Mt'iiini^fUl n i/jdUiMlH/_ l>l««t 
M(<l Um i/ji'i;ii U'uvf.H \n'.i/jnu Ui inmiintf \iiw, 

H}i(i|(i(i(^ ((« i(l,l,<r(a()<;(! U> ihc inii/\i\.y l'(i«(., 
'Iliul, Iw.kwuc) curoc, '/() )(((iio()K ll'mtJ/ipr hIdw ; 

"'I'll'' (uic,/i(il (()()^,l,<(« <»l lli<^ i?'))) I k()<;w, 

Wli'»«i; iMiii: innfi'ii wiywniii-', i\i;i',kt:'\ Ui«; i'iiii":l \iiiiwn ; 
'\'\i'.'if \iiiiiU-r l'i>ii\t'.iA-\if. f,wt'\ii, U)<! curly «l';w, 

A)i<l llcJr lifci) iu(ow ■'■.li'\U',k fJ/<! <!(ij^l<; «l'/wn. 

" I Ixuc) l,l)<; l<l<;u): l)(',< :(((l/<'( U'iii]i'')'X tm^iiti 

When Uk- I,o««<!4| • M(iyfl<(W"( ' iiiootvA in I'lyoionU/ iJay ; 
Ad'l W(il,<;l(i'^) yoK nlimnii; wull« «», «(/»((C hy cJ/;/)';, 

'Dk; l'al,);<'i' fic'l tlicui flowly Uiwui'ti th<; <l«y- 

" I'dt, lo ! a (/uglily < 'Idcf'luid 'dcatJi (oy (•.f(ffl<', 

h(<w )/)« l;(/p;)(l, c^W'/cl a(»'l ('<;a/'«;'l l(i« <laddU';.v. Ici*/! ; 

Ad'l I/(l;«H,y »j>mKj/, f'/rUj frodi r<;<ik tt»i<l u)"^^*'> 
A/i'l 'loddc'l );'T licloicf, i'lii' llic f/onc of dn;,-!/) , 



118 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

While in the hero's heart there dwelt a prayer 
That Heaven's protecting arm might never cease 

To make his young, endangered land its care, 

Till through the war-cloud looked the angel Peace. 

" Be wise, my children," said that ancient Tree, 
In earnest tone, as though a Mentor spake, 

" And prize the blood-bought birthright of the free. 
And firmly guard it for your country's sake." 

Thanks, thanks, Old Elm ! and for this counsel sage. 
May Heaven thy brow with added beauty grace, 

Grant richer emeralds to thy crown of age, 
And changeless honors from a future race. 



THE WASHINGTON ELM. 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

Beneath our consecrated elm 

A century ago he stood, 

Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood 

Whose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm 

The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn helm 

From colleges, where now the gown 

To arms had yielded, from the town, 

Our rude self-summoned levies flocked to see 

The new-come chiefs, and wonder which was he. 

No need to question long ; close-lipped and tall, 

Long trained in rnurder-brooding forests lone 

To bridle others' clamors and his own, 

Firmly erect, he towered above them all, 

The incarnate discipline that was to free 

With iron curb that armed democracy. 

Musing beneath the legendary tree, 

The years between furl off ; I seem to see 

The sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through, 

Dapple with gold his sober buff and blue, 



THE LAST OF THE HIGHWAYMEN. 119 

And weave prophetic aureoles round the head 

That shines our beacon now, nor darkens with the dead. 

man of silent mood, 

A stranger among strangers then, 

How art thou since renowned the Great, the Good, 

Familiar as the day in all the homes of men ! 

The winged years, that winnow praise and blame, 

Blow many names out ; they but fan t(j flame 

The self-renewing si)leudors of thy fame. 



THE LAST OF THE HIGHWAYMEN. 

MICHAEL MARTIN, alias Captain Lightfoot, after a 
checkered career in Ireland, liis native country, and 
in Scotland, as a highway robber, became in 1819 a fugitive to 
America. He first landed at Salem, where he obtained employ- 
ment as a farm-laborer. But a life of honest toil not being so 
congenial to him. as that of a bandit, he again took to his old 
occupation on the road, this time making Canada the scene of 
his exploits. 

After committing many robberies there and in Vermont and 
New Hampsliire, and always eluding capture, Martin at length 
arrived in Boston. He at once began his bold operations upon 
tlie highway ; but here his usual good luck deserted him. His 
first and last victim was Major John Bray, of Boston. Martin 
had somehow found out that His Excellency Governor Brooks 
intended giving a dinner-party at his mansion in Medford on a 
certain afternoon, and he had determined to waylay some of 
the company on their return, shrewdly guessing that they might 
be well worth the picking. In fact, as Major Bray was driving 
leisurely homeward in his chaise over the Medford turnpike, he 
was suddenly stopped by a masked horseman, who presented a 
pistol and sternly commanded him to deliver up his valuables. 



120 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Tlie place was a lonely one, and well chosen for the robber's pur- 
pose. The astounded Major handed over his watch and his 
purse. Having secured his booty, the highwayman wheeled his 
horse, gave him the spur, and galloped oif ; while his frightened 
avA crestfallen victim, lashing his horse to a run, raised a hue- 
and-cry at the nearest house. 

Martin fled. He was hotly pursued, and was taken, after a 
chase of a hundred miles, asleep in bed at Springfield. The 
officers brought him back, and lodged him in East Cambridge 
jail to await his trial. He was tried at the next assizes for 
highway robbery, was convicted, and sentenced to be hanged. 
This being the first trial occurring under the statute punish- 
ing such an offence, it naturally created a great deal of stir, and 
when the prisoner was brought to the bar, the court-room was 
thronged with curious spectators. Throughout the proceedings 
the prisoner was perfectly cool. As the pupil of the celebrated 
Thunderbolt, he had a reputation to maintain ; and when the 
judge, putting on the black cap, pronounced the awful sentence 
of death, he dryly observed : " Well, that 's the worst you can do 
for me." 

The doomed man, however, made one desperate efibrt to 
escape from prison. He had found some way to procure a tile, 
with which he filed off his irons so that he could remove them 
whenever he liked ; and when the turnkey one morning came 
into the cell, he being off his guard, tlie prisoner, using his irons 
as a weapon, felled him to the ground with a savage blow on 
the' head, and leaving him stunned and bleeding upon the floor 
of the cell, rushed out of the open door into the prison-yard. 
Tlie outer walls were too high to be scaled, and free passage 
into the street was barred by a massive oaken gate. But this did 
not stop the resolute highwayman, who was a man of herculean 
strength. Dashing himself repeatedly, with all his force, against 
it, he at last succeeded in breaking the gate open, and passing 
quicldy through, he emerged into the street beyond ; but being 
exhausted by his frantic efforts to escape, after a short flight 
his pursuers overtook and secured him. He was loaded with 



THE ELIOT OAK. 121 

irons and chained to his cell. After this desperate attempt to 
gain his liberty, he was guarded with greater vigilance until the 
day appointed for his execution, when the " Last of the High- 
waymen" paid the penalty of his crimes upon the scaffold. 



THE ELIOT OAK. 

IN that part of Boston formerly constituting the town of 
Brighton, and still farther back forming a precinct of Cam- 
bridge, there is a pleasant locality called Oak Square. It was 
so named on account of the old oak-tree which stood there, 
and which is probably better known as the Eliot Oak. 

This gigantic relic of the primeval forest was in its day the 
largest and the oldest tree of its species growing within the four 
boundaries of the old Bay State, and it was officially declared 
to be so by a scientific commission which was charged with 
making a botanical survey of the State. The declaration is 
made that " It had probably passed its prime centuries before 
the first English voice was heard on the shores of Massachusetts 
Bay." Its circumference at the ground was given at twenty- 
five feet and nine inches, or two feet more than that of the 
Great Elm of Boston. Through decay the trunk became hollow 
at the base, furnishing a cavity large enough to serve as a hid- 
ing-place for the schoolboys who played under tlie shade of its 
wide-spreading branches. The enormous weight of these, with 
their foliage, was at last supported by a mere shell of trunk, 
and as every gale threatened to lay it low, to the regret of thou- 
sands, the brave old oak was through a hard necessity compelled 
to bite the dust. By an order of the town it was cut down in 
May, 1855. 

A little west of this tree was the former site of the wigwam 
of Waban, Chief of the Nonantums, and he must often have 
rested under its generous shade. The old Indian trail extended 




THE ELIOT OAK, BRIGTITON. 



f 



Eliot's oak. 123 

from this tree northeast to the Charles River, connecting the 
settlement here with the Colleges at Old Cambridge. 

Tradition says that the Apostle Eliot of glorious memory 
preached to the Indians here under this oak. We are amazed 
to think of it as then being — near two centuries and a half ago 
— in its vigorous maturity. This is the incident which the 
poet Longfellow embalms in his sonnet, the scene being, how- 
ever, transferred to Natick, Massachusetts, where these Indians, 
by the advice of Eliot, founded one of their Praying Towns, 
and adopted the customs of civilized life. 



ELIOT'S OAK. 

H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

Thou ancient oak ! whose myriad leaves are loud 
With sounds of unintelligible speech, 
Sounds as of surges on a shingly beach, 
Or multitudinous murmurs of a crowd ; 

With some mysterious gift of tongues endowed, 
Thou speakest a different dialect to each ; 
To me a language that no man can teach. 
Of a lost race, long vanished like a cloud. 

For underneath thy shade, in days remote, 
Seated like Abraham at eventide 
Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the unknown 

Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote 

His Bible in a language that hath died 
And is forgotten, save by thee alone. 



parr rfjirtj. 



LYXN AXD NAHAXT LEGEND: 




'iiri"><, , ^ - ,11,1 . 



LYNN AND NAHANT LEGENDS. 

THE vivid and life-like description of the coast scenery of 
ancient Saugus, borrowed from " The Bridal of Penna- 
cook," is a most fitting introduction to our legends ; for nowhere 
could a wilder or more romantic region, or one embodying more 
striking natural traits, prepare the mind for receiving those weird 
tales which so truly present to it the superstitious side of old 
New England life. 

A wild and broken landscape, spiked witli firs, 
Roughening the bleak horizon's northern edge, 

Steep, cavernous hillsides, where black hemlock spurs 
And sharp, gray splinters of the wind-swept ledge 

Pierced the thin-glazed ice, or bristling rose, 

Where the cold rim of the sky sunk down upon the snows. 



And eastward cold, wide marshes stretched away. 
Dull dreary flats without a bush or tree, 

O'er-crossed by icy creeks, where twice a day 
Gurgled the waters of the moon-struck sea ; 

And faint with distance came the stifled roar. 

The melancholy lapse of waves on that low shore. 



128 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK. 

IN the " Bridal of Pennacook," Mr. Wliittier, who is himself 
at once the product and the poet of this romantic coast, 
tells us that he chanced upon the motive of the poem while 
poring over 

An old clironicle of border wars 
And Indian history. 

This was undoubtedly Thomas Morton's " JSTew English Ca- 
naan," — a book which the Puritans indignantly denominated 
"scandalous," and for wliich they imprisoned the author a 
whole year, then dismissing him with a fine. But aside from its 
merciless ridicule of them and their ways, its value as " Indian 
history " is duly certified by most competent judges, one of 
whom says that Morton's description of the Indians " is su- 
perior to that of most authors before his time ; and though he 
sometimes indulges his imagination, yet this part of his work is 
of exceeding great value to inquirers about the primitive inhabi- 
tants of New England." 

The poet goes on to relate, that among the ill-assorted collec- 
tion of books forming his landlord's library he found this old 
chronicle, Avherein he read, — 

A story of the marriage of the Chief 
Of Saugus to the dusky Weetamoo, 
Daughter of Passaconawaj^ who dwelt 
In the old time upon the Merrimack. 

This is the story as it is related by Morton. Winnepurkit, 
the son of Nanapashemet, or tire New Moon, was the Sagamore of 
Saugus, Naumkeag, and Massabequash, — now known as Saugus, 
Lynn, Salem, and Marblehead. "When he came to man's estate 



THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK. 129 

this young sachem, who was both valiant and of noble blood, 
made choice for his wife of the daughter of Passaconaway, the 
great chieftain of the tribes inliabiting the valley of the Merri- 
mack. Not only was Passaconaway a mighty chief in war or 
peace, but he was also the greatest powow, or wizard, of whom 




AN INDIAN PRINCESS. 

we have any account. Indeed the powers attributed to him by 
the English colonists would almost surpass belief, were they not 
fully vouched for by the learned and reverend chroniclers of that 
day, who gravely assert that so skilled was he in the arts of 
necromancy, that he could cause a green leaf to grow in winter, 

9 



130 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

trees to dance, water to burn, and the like marvels to ajDpear in 
the course of his mystical invocations. 

With the consent and good liking of this redoubtable saga- 
more, Winnepurkit wooed and married the daughter of Passa- 
conaway. Bountiful was the entertainment that he and his 
attendants received at her father's hands, according to the cus- 
to]u of his people when celebrating an event of this kind, and 
such as suited the exalted rank of tlie bride and groom. 
Feasting and revelry succeeded, or rather they made a part of 
the marriage solemnities, as with all ancient peoples. The cere- 
monies being over, Passaconaway caused a select number of his 
braves to escort his daughter into the territories belonging to her 
lord and husband, where being safely come, they were, in a like 
manner, most hospitably entertained by Winnepurkit and his 
men, and when they Avere ready to depart, were generously 
rewarded with gifts for their loving care and service. 

i^ot long afterward the newly wedded princess was seized with 
a passionate longing to revisit once again her native country, and 
to behold once more the face of the mighty chief, her father. 
Her lord listened to her prayer, which seemed reasonable enough, 
and he therefore, in all love and kindness for her welfare, chose 
a picked body from among his most trusted warriors to conduct 
his lady to her father, to whom they with great respect presently 
brought her safe and sound ; and then, after being graciously 
received and as graciously dismissed, they returned to give an 
account of their errand, leaving their princess to continue among 
her friends at her own good will and pleasure. After some stay 
in her old home by the beautiful mountain river, the lady signi- 
fied her desire to go back to her husband again, upon which Pas- 
saconaway sent an embassy to Winnepurkit with order to notify 
liim of this Avish on her part, and to request tliat the Sachem 
of Saugus, his son-in-law, might at once despatch a suitable 
guard to escort his wife back through the wilderness to her home. 
But Winnepurkit, strictly standing for his honor and reputation 
as a chief, bade the messengers to carry his father-in-law this 
answer : " That when his wife departed from him, he caused 



THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK. 131 

his own men to wait upon her to lier father's territories, as did 
become liiiu ; but now that she had an intent to return, it did 
become her father to send lier back with a convoy of bis own 
people ; and that it stood not with Winnepurkit's reputation 
either to make himself or his men so servile as to fetch her 
again." 

Thereupon the old sachem, Passaconaway, was much incensed 
at having this curt answer returned to him by one whom he 
considered at most only a petty chief and a vassal; and being 
moreover sadly nettled to think that his son-in-law should pre- 
tend to give him, Passaconaway, a lesson in good-breeding, or 
did not esteem him more highly than to make this a matter for 
negotiation, sent back tliis sharp reply : " That his daughters 
blood and birtli deserved more respect than to be slighted in 
such a manner, and therefore if he (Winnepurkit) would have 
her company, he were best to send or come for her." 

The young sachem, not being willing to undervalue himself, 
and being withal a man of stout spirit, did not hesitate to tell 
his indignant father-in-law that he must either send his daughter 
home in cliarge of his own escort, or else he might keep her ; 
since Winnepurkit was, for his own part, fully determined not 
to stoop so low. 

As neither would yield, the poor princess remained with her 
father, — at least until Morton, the narrator, left tlie country ; 
but she is supposed to have finally rejoined her haughty spouse, 
though in what way does not appear in the later relation before 
us. She was no true woman, however, if she failed to discover 
a means to soften the proud heart of Winnepurkit, who after 
all was perhaps only too ready to accord to her tears and her 
entreaties what he had so loftily refused at the instigation of a 
punctiliousness that was worthy of the days of chivalry. 

The poet has made a most felicitous use of this story, into 
which are introduced some descriptions of the scenery of the 
Merrimack of exceeding beauty and grace. The poem has, 
however, a more dramatic ending than the prose-tale we have 
just given. In the poem the heart-broken and deserted bride of 



132 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Pennacook at last determines to brave the perils of the swollen 
and turbid Merrimack alone, to seek the wigwam of her dusky 
husband. Stealing away from her companions, she launches 
her frail canoe upon the bosom of the torrent, and is instantly 
swept by it, — 

Down the vexed centre of that rushing tide, 
The thick huge ice-blocks threatening either .side, 
The foam-white rocks of Amoskeag in view, 
With arrowv swiftness — 



Down the white rapids like a sere leaf whirled. 
On the sharp rocks and piled-up ices hurled. 
Empty and broken, circled the canoe 
In the vexed pool below — but where was 
Weetamoo ? 



THE PIRATES' GLEN. 

THE year 1658 was signalized in New England by a great 
earthquake, which is mentioned in some of the old chron- 
icles. Connected with this convulsion, which in the olden 
time was regarded as a most signal mark of the displeasure of 
Heaven, is the following story. There are, it should be said, 
two or three circumstances, or rather facts, giving to this legend 
a color of authenticity, which are of themselves sufficient to 
create a doubt whether, after all, it has not a more substantial 
foundation than has generally been conceded to it. We will- 
ingly give it the benefit of this doubt ; meanwhile contenting 
ourselves with the statement that its first appearance in print, 
so far as known to the writer, was in Lewis's " History of Lynn." 
But here is the legend in all its purity. 



THE PIEATES' GLEN. 133 

Some time previous to the great earthquake, in the twilight 
of a pleasant evening on the coast, a small bark was seen to 
approach the shore, furl her sails, and drop her anchor near the 
mouth of Saugus River. A boat was presently lowered from 
her side, which four men got into and rowed silently up the 
river to where it enters the hills, when they landed, and plunged 
into the woods skirting the banks. These movements had been 
noticed by only a few individuals ; but in those early times, 
when the people were surrounded by dangers and were easily 
alarmed, such an incident was well calculated to a-waken sus- 
picion, so that in the course of the evening the intelligence had 
spread from house to house, and many were the conjectures 
respecting the strangers' business. In the morning all eyes 
were naturally directed toward the shore, in search of the 
stranger- vessel ; but she was no longer there, and no trace 
either of her or of her singular crew could be found. It Avas af- 
terward learned, however, that on the morning of the vessel's 
disappearance a workman, upon going to his daily task at the 
Forge, on the river's bank, had found a paper running to the 
effect that if a certain quantity of shackles, handcuffs, and other 
articles named were made, and with secrecy deposited in a cer- 
tain place in the woods, which was particularly described, an 
amount of silver equal to their full value would be found in 
their stead. The manacles were duly made and secreted, in 
conformity with the strange directions. On the following 
morning they had been taken away, and the money left accord- 
ing to the letter of the promise ; but notwithstanding the fact 
that a strict watch had been kept, no sign of a vessel could be 
discovered in the offing. Some months later than this event, 
which had furnished a fruitful theme for the village gossips, 
the four men returned, and selected one of the most secluded 
and romantic spots in the woods of Saugus for their abode ; and 
the tale has been further embellished to the effect that the 
pirate chief brought with him a beautiful Avonian. The place 
of their retreat was a deep and narrow valley, shut in on two 
sides by craggy, precipitous rocks, and screened on the others 



13-i NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

by a thick growth of pines, hemlocks, and cedars. There was 
only one small spot to which the rays of the noonday sun could 
penetrate. Upon climbing the rude and nearly perpendicular 
steep of the cliff on the eastern side of this glen, the eye com- 
manded a noble expanse of sea stretching far to the south, be- 
sides a wide extent of the surrounding country. No spot on 
the coast could have been better chosen for the double purpose 
of concealment and observation. Even at this da)', w^hen the 
neighborhood has become thickly peopled, it is still a lonely 
and desolate place, whose gloomy recesses are comparatively 
unknown and unvisited. Here the pirates built themselves a 
small hut, made a garden, and dug a well, of which some traces 
still remain. It is supposed that they also buried money here, 
and search has been made for it at A-arious times, but none has 
ever been found ; and to deepen the mystery, it is said that the 
pirate's mistress, who is described as very pale and beautiful, 
having sickened and died, was buried here in an unknown grave, 
under the thick shade of the pines. After a time the retreat of 
the pirates became noised about. They were traced to their glen. 
Three of them were taken to England, — there being at that 
time no law in the Colony to punish piracy, — where it is sup- 
posed that they paid the penalty for their crimes upon the gib- 
bet. The third, whose name was Thomas Veale, escaped to a 
cavern in the woods, which he and his confederates had previ- 
ously made use of as a place of deposit for their ill-gotten booty. 
In this lonely place the fugitive fixed his residence, practising 
the trade of a shoemaker, and occasionally visiting the village 
to obtain food, until the earthquake which ushered in the 
legend, sphtting to its foundations the rock in which the cavern 
was situated, forever sealed the entrance, enclosing the doomed 
corsair in his frightful tomb. This cliff has ever since been 
known as Dungeon Eock, and the first retreat of the free- 
booters has always borne the name of The Pirates' Glen. 

The sequel to the legend that we have so conscientiously 
related to the reader, is more striking by its reality, more incred- 
ible, one might almost say, than the legend itself is, with ail its 



THE PIEATES' GLEN. 135 

dramatic surroundings. The story of Dungeon Eock now leaves 
the realm of the legendary for that of active supernatural 
agency ; and it may be doubted if the whole world can produce 
another such example of the absorbiug pursuit of an idea which 
has become the fixed and dominant unpulse of a life. But firet 
let us introduce the i-eader to the locality itself. 

Two miles out of the city of Lynn, in the heart of the secluded 
and romantic region overlookiug it, is a hill high and steep, one 
side of which is a naked precipice ; the other, which the 'road 
ascends, is stiU covered with a magnificent grove of oak-ti-ees 
gi-owing among enormous bowlders, and clad, when I saw them, 
in the rags of their autumnal purple. Few wOder or mor^ 
picturesque spots can be found among the White Hills ; and 
here Ave are not a dozen miles removed from the homes of half 
a miUion people. The rumored existence of treasure shut up in 
the heart of this chff by the earthquake seems to have found 
credit in the neighborhood, if one may judge from the evidences 
of a heavy explosion in what was supposed to be the ancient 
vestibule of the cavern, where a yawning rent in the side of the 
ledge is blocked up with tons of massy debris and every ves- 
tige of what was perhaps an interesting natural curiosity thus 
wantonly destroyed. 

Under the direction of spirit mediums, the work of piercin<T 
Dungeon Eock was begun by Hiram Marble about thirtv years 
ago, and has continued, with little intermission, nearly'to the 
present time. For more than a quarter of a centurv, — spurred 
on, when they were ready to abandon the work in^ despair by 
some delusive revelation of the spirits, - father and son toiled on 
in the vain hope of unlocking its secret. Tons upon tons 01 
the broken rock have been removed bv their hands alone for 
the windings of the gaUery make any mechanical contrivlnee 
useless for the purpose. So hard is the natural formation that 
they sometimes advanced only a foot in a month : and the labor 
^as further increased by the accumulation of water, which is 
constantly oozing from fissures of the rock. Death at length 
released the elder enthusiast from his infatuation; but the Ion 



136 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

pursued the work as the most sacred of trusts, until he too died 
in the same fatal delusion. 

A woman whom I found in the cabin on the summit, and 
who proved to be the treasure-seeker's sister, conducted me to 
the entrance of the shaft, which was closed by a grated door, 
above which I read this eminently practical legend in an unprac- 
tical place : "Ye who enter here, leave twenty-hve cents behind." 
She turned the key in the lock, swung back the grating, and we 
began to descend, first by a series of steps cut in the rock, then 
by such foothold as the slippery floor afforded. When we 
arrived at the extreme limit of the excavation, we had come not 
far from one hundred and fifty feet in a perpendicular descent 
of only forty ; yet I remarked that the gallery at times almost 
doubled upon itself, in order to accomplisli what might have 
been reached in half the distance, and, of course, with half the 
labor, in a direct line, — which would seem to imply that the 
work might have proceeded more expeditiously under the direc- 
tion of a competent mining engineer. Nothing in the appear- 
ance of the rock indicated that it had been disturbed since the 
creation. It was as hard as adamant, as firm as marble, as 
impenetrable as Fate. 

My guide pointed out the supposed locality of the ancient 
entrance. She also showed me, as a thing to which the fee duly 
entitled even such sceptics as myself, the fragment of a corroded 
scabbard, which had been found, she said, embedded in a cranny 
Avithin the excavation. But when I afterward mentioned this 
circumstance to the poet Longfellow, who was familiar with the 
locality and its story, he laughed pleasantly, and said that unless 
his memorj'" was greatly at fault, he had seen, years before, during 
one of his drives in the neighborhood, this identical tiling at a 
blacksmith's shop where he had stopped on some errand. Such 
questions as I asked were freely answered ; but she talked in a 
way that was almost startling in its matter-of-fect assumption of 
the supernatural as the controlling element in one's life experi- 
ence. The invisible spirits of Dungeon Rock I found dealt in 
enigmas which the Delphic oracle could never have surpassed ; 



MOLL PITCHEE. 137 

yet here were believers who staked their lives upon the truth of 
utterances equally delusive ! Here the problem is suggestively 
presented, whether latter-day superstition, acting upon the weak 
and impressible nature, is on the whole to be preferred, either in 
its manifestations or results, to olden delusion as exemplified in 
the witches or Avizards of our forefathers. Who shall say ] I, 
at any rate, found this visit to Dungeon Eock one of the most 
singular experiences of a lifetime. 



MOLL PITCHER. 

IN passing from the boundaries of Saugus into those of Lynn, 
a word or two acquaints us with the origin of both places. 
Thomas Dudley, Deputy-Governor of " the Massachusetts," 
writing in 1630 to the " Lady Bryget, Countesse of Lincoln," 
says of the Colonists who, like himself, emigrated in that year 
from England, " We began to consult of the place of our sitting 
down, for Salem, where we landed, pleased us not." Various 
causes having led to their dispersion along the coast from Cape 
Ann to Nantasket, one of the scattered bands settled "upon the 
river of Saugus," as he writes ; another founded Boston. The 
Indian name Saugus, which still belongs to the river and to a 
fragment of the ancient territory, Avas superseded in 1637 by 
that of Lynn, or the King's Lynn, from Lynn Regis, on the 
River Ouse, in England. Lynn is therefore one of the oldest 
towns in Massachusetts. It is beautifully situated on the shore 
of Massachusetts Bay, ten miles north of Boston and five south 
of Salem. Swampscot is a ril) taken from her side ; so is 
Nahant, and so is Lynnfield ; yet, like the fabled monster, she 
seems to grow the faster from siiccessive mutilations. 

If one may credit the legend, Veale, the pirate recluse of 
Dungeon Rock, was among the first to follow the trade of a 
"cordwainer" here; but it may be questioned whether he is 



138 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



really looked upon as one of the founders of the craft. Be that 
as it may, it is certain that one of the earliest settlers, Francis 
Ingalls by name, established the first tannery in all the colony, 
and he may therefore be considered the originator of that 
branch of industry, in the steady pursuit of which Lynn has 
grown to be both rich and famous. When shoemaking was a 
trade, I suppose that nearly every man in Lynn was a shoe- 




.1 y.| 

MOLL PITCHER. 

maker ; but now, when no one pei'son makes a whole boot or 
a whole shoe, the trade, as a trade, has degenerated. Two of the 
noblest men that America has produced have graduated from the 
shoemaker's bench. The poet Whittier once followed this humble 
calling, until he found his higher vocation ; and the philanthro- 
pist, William Lloyd Garrison, once worked at the bench here in 
Lynn. This ancient handicraft is therefore by no means with- 
out some very honorable traditions. 

But Lynn is likely to be celebrated throughout all time as hav- 
ing been the residence of the most successful fortune-teller of her 



MOLL PITCHER. 139 

tlay and generation, — we niiglit also say of whom we have any 
iiccount in mystical lore, ancient or modern. While she lived 
she was without a rival in her peculiar art, and the prophetic 
words that she let fall were capable of being transmuted into 
gold. She it is that one of our native poets has in mind when 
he is singing — too soon, we think, — a requiem over the last 
witch of his native land. 

How has New England's romance fled, 

Even as a vision of the morning ! 
Its rites foredone, — its guardians dead, — 
Its priestesses, bereft of dread, 

Waking the veriest urchin's scorning ! 
Gone like the Indian wizard's yell 

And fire-dance round the magic rock, 
Forgotten like the Diuid's spell 

At moon rise by his holy oak! 
No more along the shadowy glen 
Glide the dim ghosts of murdered men ; 
No more the unquiet cliurchyard dead 
Glimpse upward from their turt'y bed. 

Startling the traveller, late and lone ; 
As, on some night of starless weather. 
They silently commune together, 

Each sitting on his own headstone ! 
The roofless house, decayed, deserted, 
Its living tenants all departed. 
No longer rings with midnight revel 
Of witch, or ghost, or goblin evil ; 
No pale blue flame sends out its flashes 
Through creviced roof and shattered sashes ! — 
The witch-grass round the hazel spring 
May sharply to the night-air sing, 
But there no more shall withered hags 
Refresh at ease their broomstick nags, 
Or taste those hazel-shadowed waters 
As beverage meet for Satan's daughters ; 
No more their mimic tones be heard, — 
The mew of cat, — the chirp of bii'd, — 



140 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Shrill blending with the hoarser laughter 
Of the fell demon following after! 

Even she, our own weird heroine, 
Sole Pythoness of ancient Lynn, 

Sleeps calmly where the living laid her ; 
And the wide realm of sorcery, 
Left by its latest mistress free, 

Hath found no gray and skilled invader. 

It was once said of Napoleon that he left a family, but no 
successor. Moll Pitcher left none in her wonderful gift of fore- 
telling the future by practising palmistry, or by simply gazing 
into the bottom of a teacup. She was therefore no Sidrophel. 
Yet even the most incredulous were compelled to admit her pre- 
dictions to be wholly unaccountable ; while those who came to 
laugh went away vanquished, if not fully convinced. What is 
singular is that her reputation has rather increased than dimin- 
ished with time. We have no account of her dupes, nor is 
there any " Exposure " extant. It follows that the spot where 
for so many years Moll Pitcher so successfully practised her art 
is the one to which the stranger first asks to be directed. 

Should he happen to stray a little way out of the more 
crowded part of the city, his attention would at once be arrested 
by a remarkable' cliff of dull red porphyry rising high above the 
house-tops, that has apparently detached itself from the broken 
hill-range which skirts the coast, and has elbowed its way into 
the plain, thrusting the houses aside out of its path, until it 
almost divides the city in twain. High Rock, as it is called, is 
to Lynn what the Citadel is to Quebec, — you look down, and see 
at a glance all the out-door life of the place ; you look up, and 
see the blue arch of the sky springing from the rim of the 
ocean. 

The following poetical description of the ravishing view of sea 
and shore unrolled from the summit of High Eock naturally 
takes precedence of our own : — 



MOLL PITCHEK. 141 

HIGH ROCK. 

ELIZABETH F. MERRILL. 

Overlooking the town of Lynn, 

So for above that the city's din 

Mingles and blends with the heavy roar 

Of the breakers along ^he curving shore, 

Scarred and furrowed and glacier-seamed, 

Back in the ages so long ago, 

The boldest philosopher never dreamed 

To count the centuries' ebb and flow, 

Stands a rock with its gray old face 

Eastward, ever turned to the place 

Where first the rim of the sun is seen, — 

Whenever the morning sky is bright, — 

Cleaving the glistening, glancing sheen 

Of the sea with disk of insufferable light. 

Down in the earth his roots strike deep ; 

Up to his breast the houses creep. 

Climbing e'en to his rugged face, 

Or nestling lovingly at his base. 

Stand on his forehead, bare and brown, 

Send your gaze o'er the roofs of the town 

Away to the line so faint and dim. 

Where the sky stoops down to the crystal rim 

Of the broad Atlantic, whose billows toss, 

Wrestling and weltering and hurrying on 

With awful fury whenever across 

His broad bright surface, with howl and moan, 

The Tempest wheels, with black wing bowed 

To the yielding waters which fly to the cloud, 

Or hurry along with thunderous shocks 

To break on the ragged and riven rocks. 

When the tide comes in on a sunny day 
You can see the waves beat back in spray 
From the splintered spurs of Phillips Head, 
Or tripping along with dainty tread, 



142 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

As of a million glancing feet, 

Shake out the light in a quick retreat, 

Or along the smooth curve of the beach, 

Snowy and curling, in long lines reach. 

An islet anchored and held to land 

By a glistening, foam-fringed ribbon of sand ; 

That is Nahant, and that hoary ledge 

To the left is Egg Rock, like a blunted wedge, 

Cleaving the restless ocean's breast, 

And bearing the lighthouse on its crest. 

It was at the foot of this cliff that Moll Pitcher, the fortune- 
teller of Lynn, dwelt. Forty years ago there were very few fire- 
sides in New England that her fame had not reached, perhaps 
disturbed ; and her successful predictions, alike astounding to 
the vulgar or to the enlightened, were the theme of many a mid- 
night watch or forecastle confab. She was not, if we may credit 
local report, the withered, decrepit, and toothless crone of 
Spenser, or Otway's 

" wrinkled hag, with age grown double, 
Picking dry sticks and mumbling to herself," 

but a woman who lived in the full gaze and gossip of a world 
which only accepted her claim to foreknowledge upon the une- 
quivocal testimony of a thousand witnesses. Do you contend 
that her reputation was due solely to the shrewdness, penetra- 
tion, and ready wit with which she was undoubtedly in a 
remarkable degree gifted 1 How, then, will you explain revela- 
tions of the future made ten and twenty years before the events 
predicted took place"? 

When she was in the meridian of her fame and life the ordi- 
nary applicant saw a w^oman of medium stature, having an 
unusually large head, a pale, thin, and rather intellectual face, 
shaded by masses of dark brown hair, who was as thoroughly 
self-possessed as he was ill at ease, and whose comprehensive 
glance measured his mental capacity before he could utter a 
syllable. People of better discernment, who recollect her, say 



MOLL PITCHER. 



143 



that her face had none of the wiklness of the traditional witch, 
but was clouded with a habitual sadness, as of a mind over- 
burdened with being the depository of so many confidences, 
perhaps crimes. She had a full, capacious forehead, arclied eye- 
brows, eyes that read the secret thoughts of a suitor, a nose 
"inclined to be long," and thin lips — a physiognomy wholly 
unlike the popular ideal, but rather that of a modern Egeria, — 
in short, the witch of the nineteenth century. 

During the fifty years that she pursued her trade of fortune- 
telling, in what was then a lonely and little frequented quarter 




MOLL pitcher's COTTAGE. 



of the town, not only was she consulted by the poor and igno- 
rant, but also by the rich and intelligent class. Love affairs, 
legacies, the discovery of crime, lotteries, commercial ventures, 
and the more common contingencies of fortune, formed, we may 
well imagine, the staple of her predictions ; but her most valued 
clients came from the opulent seaports that are within sight of 
High Kock. The common sailor and the master, the cabin-boy 
and the owner, equally resorted to her humble abode to know 
the luck of a voyage. It is asserted that many a vessel has 
been deserted when on the eve of sailing, in consequence of 



144 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Moll's unlucky vaticination. She was also much besought by 
treasure-seekers — a rather numerous class in her day, whose 
united digging along the coast of N^ew England would, if use- 
fully directed, have reclaimed for cultivation no inconsiderable 
area of virgin soil. For such applicants the witch had a short 
and sharp reply. "Fools!" she would say; " if I knew where 
money was buried, do you think I would part with tlie 
secret ] " 

Moll Pitcher died in 1813, at the age of seventy -five. She 
was originally of Marblehead, and is said to have inherited the 
gift of prophecy from her grandfather, John Dimond, who was 
himself a wizard of no mean reputation in that place. In proof 
of this it is said that he was in the habit of going to the old bury- 
ing-ground on the hill whenever a violent gale at sea arose, and 
in that lonely place, in the midst of the darkness and the storm, 
to astound and terrify the simple fisherfolk in the following 
manner. He would direct vessels then at sea how to weather 
the roughest gale, — pacing up and down among the grave- 
stones, and ever and anon, in a voice distinctly heard above the 
howling of the tempest, shout his orders to the helmsman or 
the crew, as if he were actually on the quarter-deck, and the 
scene all before him. Very few doubted his ability to bring a 
vessel safely into port. Mary Dimond's father sailed out of Mar- 
blehead as master of a small vessel. She married Eobert Pitcher, 
a shoemaker, in 1760. Mr. Lewis, the historian of Lynn, who 
remembered her, asserts that she was connected with some of the 
best families in Essex ; that, except her fortune-telling pretension, 
there was nothing disreputable in her life ; and that her descend- 
ants were living and respected when he wrote. Her life seems 
rather to mark the line which divides old and new superstition, 
than any decay of that inextinguishable craving to pry into futu- 
rity which has distinguished the human race in all ages and in 
all climes. 

This describes the celebrated fortune-teller as she was known 
to her contemporaries. We have, however, picked up among 
the flotsam of literary drift a different portrait, drawn in verse. 



MOLL PITCHEK. 145 

In 1832 Whittier published, anonymously, a poem of which 
Moll Pitcher is the heroine. The statement made by the author 
in an introductory note concerning himself will doubtless be 
considered to-day as being even a greater curiosity than the poem 
itself is. There he naively says : " I have not enough of the poeti- 
cal mania in my disposition to dream of converting, by an alchemy 
more potent than that of the old philosophers, a limping couplet 
into a brace of doubloons, or a rickety stanza into a note of hand. 
Moll Pitcher (' there's music in the name ') is the offspring of a 
few weeks of such leisure as is afforded by indisposition, and is 
given to the world in all its original negligence, — the thoughts 
fresh as when first originated." 

The poem is the story of a maiden, fond and fair, whose sailor 
lover had gone on a long voyage to sea, where 

He sought for gold — for yellow gold, — 

in order that he might come back a rich man and wed the girl 
lie had left behind him. The maiden's mind becomes filled with 
gloomy forebodings concerning him. Obeying an uncontrollable 
impulse, in an evil hour she seeks the well-trodden path lead- 
ing to Moll Pitcher's abode, in order to know her destiny ; and 
while on her way thither she encounters the witch, who is thus 
•described : — 

She stood upon a bare tall crag 

Which overlooked her rugged cot — 
A wasted, gray, and meagre hag. 

In features evil as her lot. 
She had the crooked nose of a witch. 

And a crooked back and chin; 
And in her gait she had a hitch, 
And in her hand she carried a switch, 

To aid her work of sin, — 
A twig of wizard hazel, which 
Had grown beside a haunted ditch, 
Where a mother her nameless babe had thrown 
To the running water and merciless stone. 
10 



146 NEW-ENC4LAND LEGENDS. 

The fortune-teller cherishes a secret eumity towards her trem- 
bling visitor, and wickedly determines on revenging herself. 
She leading the way, — 

The twain passed in — a low dark room, 

With here and there a crazy chair, 
A broken glass — a dusty loom — 
A spinning-wheel — a birchen broom. 

The witch's courier of the air, 
As potent as that steed of wings 

On which the Meccan prophet rode 
Above the wreck of meaner things 

Unto the Houris' bright abode. 
A low dull fire by flashes shone 
Across the gray and cold hearthstone, 
Flinging at times a trembling glare 
On the low roof and timbers bare. 

After this glimpse of her home, the weird woman proceeds to 
try her art by looking steadfastly into the sorceress's cup, which, 
we are told, constituted her whole fortune-telling paraphernalia.. 
Presently she speaks. 

Out spoke the witch, — "I know full well 

Why thou hast sought my humble cot ! 
Come, sit thee down, — the tale I tell 

May not be soon forgot." 
She threw her pale blue cloak aside, 

And stirred the whitening embers up, 
And long and curiously she eyed 

The figures of her mystic cup ; 
And low she muttered while the light 
Gave to her lips a ghastlier white. 
And her sunk eyes' unearthly glaring 
Seemed like the taper's latest flaring: 
" Dark hair — eyes black — a goodly form — 

A maiden weeping — wild dark sea — 
A tall ship tossing in the storm — 

A black wreck floatinsr — lohere is he ? 



MOLL PITCHEK. 147 

Give me thy hand — how soft, and warm, 

And fair its tapering fingers seem ! — 
And wlio that sees it now would dream 
That winter's snow would seem less chill 
Ere long than these soft fingers will '? 
A lovely palm ! — how delicate 

Its veined and wandering lines are di'awn ! 
Yet each are prophets of thy fate — 

Ha I — this is sure a fearful one ! 
That sudden cross — that blank beneath — 

What may these evil signs betoken ? 
Passion and sorrow, fear and death — 

A human spirit crushed and broken ! 
Oh, thine hath been a pleasant dream. 
But darker shall its waking seem ! " 

Like a cold hand upon her heart 

The dark words of the sorceress lay, 
Something to scare her spirit's rest 

Forever more away. 
"Each word had seemed so strangely true, 
Calling her inmost thoughts in view, 
And pointing to the form which came 

Before her in her dreary sleep, 
Whose answered love — whose very name, 
Thoiigh nought of breathing life was near, 

She scarce had given the winds to keep. 
Or murmured in a sister's ear. 



Overcome by the terrible revelation, to which her own fears 
lend a too ready belief, the poor girl becomes a maniac. She is 
always watching for the sail in the offing which never comes ; 
she wandery up and down the rocky shores of ]N"ahant, gazing 
vacantly out to sea, until on one lucky day, in spite of Moll's 
fatal prediction, the lover's ship sails gallantly into the bay, and 
with it the one thing capable of restoring the maiden's reason 
again. The witch, however, does not escape the consequences of 
her malevolence, but dies miserably in her Avretched hovel, 



148 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

being tended in lier last moments by a little child of the woman 
she has so cruelly wronged. 

The poem being too long for us to reproduce in full, we 
have thus merely outlined it fur the reader. 



NAHANT LEGENDS. 

ABOUT three miles from Avhere we stand, rising abruptly 
from the sea, is a castellated gray rock crowned with a 
lighthouse. Egg Eock, as it is called, is not more than eighty 
feet from sea to summit, but its isolated and lonely position, its 
bold outlines cut clean and sharp on the blue background, make 
it seem higher. This rocky islet, the former eyrie of wild sea- 
birds, is by far the most picturesque object of this picturesque 
shore. It is almost always seen encircled with a belt of white 
surf, while in violent storms the raging seas assail it with such 
tremendous impetuosity as to give the idea of a fortress belea- 
guered by the combined powers of sea and air. At such times it 
cannot be approached with safety. Then the lighthouse keeper, 
whatever his wants may be, can hold no communication with 
the shore, but is a prisoner during the pleasure of the gale. 

The occasional and distant glimpses of Nahant had from the 
main shore are certain to excite the desire for a nearer survey, a 
more intimate acquaintance. We will, therefore, let this choice 
bit of description, which Mr. Longfellow particularly admired, 
serve as our introduction. " If," says N. P. Willis, " you can 
imagine a buried Titan lying along the length of a continent, 
with one arm stretched out into the midst of the sea, the spot 
to which I would transport you, reader mine, would be, as it 
were, in the palm of the giant's hand." 

One of AVhittier's earliest poetic productions is also addressed 
to this charming spot : 



NAHANT LEGENDS. 149 

Nahant, thy beach is beautiful ! — 

A dim. line through the tossing waves, 
Along whose verge the spectre gull 

Her thin and snowy plumage laves — 
What time the Summer's greenness lingers 

Within thy sunned and sheltered nooks, 
And the green vine with twining fingers 

Creeps up and down thy hanging rocks ! 
Around — the blue and level main — 

Above — a sunshine rich, as fell, 
Bright'ning of old, with golden rain, 

The isle Apollo loved so well ! — 
And far off, dim and beautiful 
The snow-white sail and graceful hull, 

Slow, dipping to the billow's swell. 
Bright spot! — the isles of Greece may share 
A flowery earth — a gentle air ; — 
The orange-bough may blossom well 
In warm Bermuda's sunniest dell ; — 
But fairer shores and brighter waters, 
Gazed on by purer, lovelier daughters, 

Beneath the light of kindlier skies. 
The wanderer to the farthest bound 
Of peopled Earth hath never found 

Than thine — New England's Paradise ! 

Mrs. Sigourney follows in the same strain of unstinted 
praise : — 

NAHANT. 

EuDE rock- bound coast, where erst the Indian roamed, 
The iron shoulders of thy furrowed clilfs, 
Made black with smiting, still in stubborn force 
Resist the scourging wave. 

Bright summer suns 
In all the fervor of their noontide heat 
Obtain no power to harm thee, for thou wrapp'st 
Thy watery mantle round thee, ever fresh 
With ocean's coolness, and defy'st their rage. 



150 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

The storm-cloud is thy glory. 

Then, thou deck'st 
Thyself with majesty, and to its frown 
And voice of thunder, answerest boldly back, 
And from thy watch-towers hurl'st the blinding spray, 
While every dark and hollow cavern sounds 
Its trumpet for the battle. 

Yet 't is sweet 
Amid thy fissured rocks to ruminate, 
Marking thy grottos with mosaic paved 
Of glittering pebbles, and that balm to breathe 
Which gives the elastic nerves a freer play, 
And tints the languid cheek with hues of health. 

The sand-beach and the sea ! 

Who can divine 
"Their mystic intercourse, that day and night 
Surceaseth not 1 On comes the thundering surge, 
Lifting its mountain-head, with menace stern, 
To whelm the unresisting; but impelled 
In all the plenitude of kingly power 
To change its purpose of authority, 
Breaking its wand of might, doth hurry back ; 
And then, repenting, with new wrath return. 
Yet still that single, silvery line abides, 
Lowly, and fearless, and immutable. 
God gives it strength. 

So may he deign to grant 
The sand-line of our virtues power to cope 
With all temptation. When some secret snare 
Doth weave its meshes round our trembling souls. 
That in their frailty turn to him alone. 
So may he give us strength. 

There is a good road over the Long Beach ; but when the tide 
is nearly down, a broad esplanade of sand beckons us aside from 
the embankment over which that is now built. Here is a course 
such as no Eoman charioteer ever drove upon. Here the heavy 
farm-carts that are gathering seaweed leave scarcely a print of 
their broad-tired wheels. Stamp upon it with the foot, and see 



NAHANT LEGENDS. 151 

how hard and firm it is ; or smile at the Hghtning it emits under 
the impact, — your childhood's wonder. We pass over half an 
acre of sand, moulded in tlie imjjress of little Avavelets that have 
left their print like cunning chiselling or like masses of sandy 
hair in crimp. There behind a clump of rocks crouches a sports- 
man, who is patiently waiting for twilight to come, when the 
black ducks and coots fly over ; those stooping figures among 
the rocks are not treasure-seekers, but clam-diggers. 

Having crossed the Long Beach, we betake ourselves again to 
the road which winds around the shore of Little Nahant to a 
second beach, half a mile long. We again leave this behind, to 
climb the rocky ascent of the greater promontory, then finding 
ourselves in the long street of the village. Nahant is tempting 
to artist or antiquary, but especially so to the man of refined 
literary tastes, who knows no greater enjoyment than to visit 
the spots consecrated by genius. In Jonathan Johnson's house 
Longfellow partly wrote " Hiawatha ; " and here, at Nahant, was 
also the birthplace of the "Bells of Lynn," which the poet heard. 

Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight. 

And we too hear their musical vibrations, softened by the dis- 
tance, lingering lovingly in the air, and we can see as in our own 
memories the pictures to which his matchless verse gives life : 

The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, 
Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, Bells of Lynn ! 

Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward 
Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn ! 

The distant lighthouse hears, and Math his flaming signal 
Answers you, passing the watchword on, Bells of Lynn ! 

And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, 
And clap their hands, and shout to you, Bells of Lynn ! 

Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations, 
Ye summon up the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn ! 

And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of Endor, 
Ye cry aloud, and then are still, Bells of Lynn ! 



152 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

The " Ladder of St. Augustine " and other of his lyrics in 
which the actual presence of the sea is felt by the reader were 
also written here under its influence, for Longfellow is always 
moved by it to a pitch of high-wrought emotion — to a kind of 
speechless speech — which only the impressible nature knows. 
In the " Dedication " to his Seaside verses he gives us the key 
to this exquisite spiritual sensibility, — 

Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk, 
Saddened, and mostly silent, with emotion ; 

Not interrupting with intrusive talk 

The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean. 

And in the opening stanza of " The Secret of the Sea" he frankly 
confesses to the fascination Avith Avhich it possesses him : — 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 

As I gaze upon the sea ! 
All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams, come hack to me. 

Somewhat farther on we descend into an enticing nook, shaded 
by two aged and gigantic willows. Here, iu the modest cottage 
of Mrs. Hannah Hood, surrounded by old Dutch folios, Motley 
began his " Dutch Eepublic." By ascending the rise of ground 
beyond the Hollow we may see the roof of the cottage where 
Prescott, who died, like Petrarch, in his chair, worked at "Ferdi- 
nand and Isabella," the "Conquest of Mexico," and " Philip II." 
On the point beyond us, assisted by his gifted wife, Agassiz 
produced "Brazil." Willis, Curtis, Mrs. Sigourney, and an 
admiring host of lesser celebrities who have felt its magnetic 
influence, celebrate Nahant in prose or verse. The residence 
of such eminent representatives of American literature could 
hardly fail to impress itself upon the social character of a place ; 
but it has also made this little peninsula one of the best remem- 
bered spots of American ground to scholars of the Old World 
who have visited it. And the privilege of traversing her rocky 



NAHANT LEGENDS. 153 

shores, with Longfellow or Agassiz for a guide, was indeed some- 
thing to be remembered. 

The Hollow seems the proper standpoint for a brief glance 
at the history of Nahant, down to the time when it became 
the retreat of culture, refinement, and wealth. Xahant (the 
twins) is a musical Indian name that trips lightly from the 
tongue. On the map it looks like the wyvern of heraldry, hang- 
ing to the coast by its tail. It was sold by Poquanum, a saga- 
more, in 1630, to the Lynn settlers, who used it in common as a 
pasture. Being to all intents an island, or rather two islands, at 
high tide, it was named the Fullerton Isles, in 1614, by Captain 
Smith. It had been granted in 1622 to Captain Eobert Gorges ; 
but his title seems to have lapsed, and not to have been suc- 
cessfully revived. Lender the rule of Andros, his favorite, Ran- 
dolph, tried to steal it. The price originally paid for Nahant 
was a suit of clothes ; it has now a tax-roll of six and a half 
millions. In the earlier accounts given of them, the two pen- 
insulas appear to have been well wooded ; but, in common with 
all the coast islands, the natural forest long ago disappeared, and 
Nahant remained almost treeless, until Thomas H. Perkins, a 
wealthy Boston merchant, planted several thousand shade-trees. 
His efforts to make Nahant a desirable summer residence were 
effectively seconded by Frederick Tudor, the ice-king, by Cor- 
nelius Coolidge, and other men of wealth and taste. Its name 
and fame began to resound abroad. A hotel was built in 1819, 
and a steamboat began to ply in the summer months betAveen 
Boston and the peninsulas. In 1853 Nahant threw off her 
allegiance to Lynn, and became a separate town. Her earlier 
frequenters were, with few exceptions, wealthy Boston or Salem 
families, and they continue to possess her choicest territories. 

Since the great hotel was destroyed by fire in 1861, there is 
only the modest hostelry of ]\Ir. Whitney for the reception of 
casual guests. This was one of five houses the peninsula con- 
tained seventy odd years ago, and was the former homestead of 
the Breed family, who, with the Hood and Johnson families, 
were sole lords of the isles. Though there has been an " inva- 



154 KEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

sion," there never has been a "conquest." The Xahantese Avho 
are " native here, and to the manner born," cling to what is left 
of their ancient patrimony with unyielding grasp. Wander 
where they may, they always come back here to die. One of 
them, wlio had refused tempting oilers for his land, said to me, 
" Here I was born, here is my home, and here I mean to abide." 
The admirably kept roads lead where the most engaging 
sea-views are to be had. You lean over a railing and look down 
eighty feet to the bottom of a cove, where the sea ripples with- 
out breaking, and the clean, smooth pebbles chase back the 
refluent wave with noisy chatter. Tlie tawny rocks wear coats 
of grass-green velvet ; the perfume of sweet-fern and of eglantine 
is in the air. The cliffs of the eastern headland are very fine. 
It takes one's breath away to witness the rush and roar of the 
eternal surges among their iron ribs ; yet the effect seems little 
more than would be produced by a hungry lion licking the bars 
of his cage. In a few instances, such as Castle Eock and the 
Devil's Pulpit notably present, the rocks arise in regular castel- 
lated masses ; but in general they are as much the expression of 
chaos of form as we might expect to see in the broken arches 
and colonnades of the earth's foundations. Being pitched about 
in fantastic yet awful confusion, they present curious accidental 
formations, or are split from summit to foundation-stone in 
chasms deep and gloomy, where the seething waters hiss and 
boil, much as they might have done when these colossal masses 
were first cooling. Here and there on the shores the sea has 
neatly hollowed out the natural curiosities locally known as 'the 
Natural Bridge, Swallows' Cave, Irene's Grotto, and the Spouting 
Horn ; and in storms the shore is as full of noises as Prospero's 

Island — 

A voice out of the silence of the deep, 

A sound mysteriously multiplied, 
As of a cataract from the mountain's side. 

Or roar of winds upon the wooded steep. 

The sea-view from the portico of the chapel, which is situated 
on the highest point of the headland, is certainly one of the 



NAIIAXT LEGENDS. 155 

rarest on the whole coast, embracing, as it does, mauy miles of 
the luainlaud, from Lyiiii as far as the extreme iJoiiit of Cape 
Ann ; of the South Shore from Scituate to Boston Light, — a 
slender, shapely, and minaret-like tower set on a half-submerged 
ledge at the entrance to Boston Harbor. On a clear day the 
dusky gray pillar of Minot's Light, and by night its ruddy flash, 
on the south coast, are visible. One of these towers — probably 
the first — inspired Longfellow's poem, " The Lighthouse," 
beginning — 

The rocky ledge runs far into tlie sea, 
And on its outer point, some miles away. 

The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, — 
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. 

And ending — 

" Sail on ! " it says, " sail on, ye stately ships ! 

And with your floating bridge the ocean span : 
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse, 

Be yours to bring man nearer unto man ! " 

Longfellow's summer residence was upon the southern shore, 
which is less precipitous, but more sheltered from the bleak 
winds, than the northern shores are. " It is a house of ample size, 
with wide verandas, and is surrounded with such shrubbery as 
the unsparing winds that sweep the peninsula allow." When, 
after the appearance of " Nooks and Corners of the New Eng- 
land Coast," the writer called upon him, the poet said, " Ah ! but 
why did you leave Nahaut out in the cokU" And he urged 
him to repair the omission without delay. 

Prescott also lived on the southern shore, on a rocky point not 
far from the Swallows' Cave, named by him "Fitful Head." 
Agassiz' cottage, on the contrary, is on the north shore. It is a 
modest, though not unpicturesque building, all upon the ground, 
and was probably better suited to the great scientist's simple 
tastes than were the handsome villas of his eminent literary neigh- 
bors. Possibly it may have reminded him in some silent way 
of his fatherland, — " the beautiful Pays du A^aud." It is to 



156 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Agassiz dead that tins touching apostrophe is addressed by his 
friend Longfellow, who is so rarely a questioner of fate, — 

I stand again on the familiar shore, 

And hear the waves of the distracted sea 

Piteously calling and lamenting thee, 

And waiting restless at thy cottage door. 
The rocks, the sea-weed on the ocean floor, 

The willows in the meadow, and the free 

Wild winds of the Atlantic welcome me ; 

Then why shouldst thou be dead, and come no more ? 
Ah, why shouldst thou be dead when common men 

Are busy with their trivial affairs, 

Having and holding ? Why, when thou hadst read 
Nature's mysterious manuscript, and then 

Wast ready to reveal the truth it bears, 

Why art thou silent ? Why shouldst thou be dead 1 



THE SEA-SERPENT. 

Mayhap you all have heard to tell 

Of the wonderful sea-snake. — Old Ballad. 

THERE is one topic with which the annals of J^ahant are 
inseparably associated that we feel a natural difl&dence in 
approaching, yet cannot in conscience ignore, and that is the 
sea-serpent. Words are inadequate to describe the wide-spread 
consternation which the apparition of such a monster created 
among the hardy pojjulation of our New England seaboard ; for 
he was soon perceived to possess none of the attributes of a 
sportive and harmless fish, but to belong strictly to the reptile 
tribe ! And what a reptile ! The most exaggerated reports of 
his length prevailed throughout all the fishing towns of Cape 
Ann, and up and down the length of the coast. One skipper 
swore that he was as long as the mainmast of a seventy-four ; 
another would eat him if the steeple of Gloucester meetingdiouse 



THE SEA-SEKPENT. 



157 



could hold a candle to him for length ; still another declared 
upon his solemn " affidavy " that, having sighted the shaggy head 
of the snake early in the morning, with a stiff six-knot breeze, 
and everything full, he had been half a glass in overhauling 
his snakesliip's tail, as he lay motionless along the water. 

For a time nothing else was talked of but the wonderful sea- 
snake, which was repeatedly seen in Gloucester Bay in August, 
1817, and occasionally also in the waters of i^ahaut Bay, by 
hundreds of curious spectators, who ran to the beaches or 
pushed off in boats at the first news of his approach. There 




EGG BOCK AND THE SEA-SERPENT. 



was not a fishwife along thirty miles of coast who did not 
shake in her shoes when he was reported in the offing. It is 
needless to say that his snakeship was not molested by any 
alert customs' officer, but "entered" and "cleared" at each 
port at his own good will and pleasure. But as time wore on, 
and the serpent's pacific, even pusillanimous, disposition became 
evident, courage revived ; and though the fish was a strange one, 
the fishermen determined, with characteristic boldness, on his 
capture. 

Stimulated, also, by the large reward oflTered for the serpent, 
alive or dead, vessels were fitted out, manned by expert whales- 



158 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

men, which cruised in the bay. The revenue vessel then on the 
station was ordered to keep a vigilant look-out, and she kept her 
guns double-shotted for action. Nets were also spread in his 
snakeship's accustomed haunts, and one adventurous fellow, who 
had approached so near as to see the white of his glittering eye, 
emptied the contents of a ducking gun into the monster's head. 
But he seemed to bear a charmed life ; and having easily eluded 
his pursuers, derisively shook tlie spray of Nahant Bay from 
his tail ere he disappeared in the depths of the ocean. Since 
this time the gigantic ophidian has from time to time revisited 
Nahant, and strange tidings have lately come of him from other 
climes. But it is clear that his stuffed skin was never destined 
to adorn the walls of a museum, and it is doubtful if he will 
ever know other pickle than his native brine. 

The tradition associating the sea-serpent with Nahant is of 
very early date. John Josselyn, Gent., who was here in 1638, 
is the first to mention this monster. • He says that one was 
seen " quoiled up on a rock at Cape Ann " by a passing boat, 
and that when an Englishman would have fired at him, an 
Indian hastily prevented his doing so, saying that it would 
bring them ill luck. 

It is our privilege to rescue this poetic waif dedicated by the 
poet Brainard to the wandering monster of the deep : — 



SONNET TO THE SEA-SEEPENT. 

J. G. BRAINARD. 

Hugest that swims the ocean stream. 

Welter upon the waters, mighty one, 

And stretch thee in the ocean's trough of brine ; 

Turn thy wet scales up to the wind and sUn, 

And toss the billow from thy flashing fin ; 

Heave thy deep breathings to the ocean's din, 

And bound upon its ridges in thy pride ; 

Or dive down to its lowest depths, and in 



THE FLOUEE OF SOUVENANCE. 



159 



The caverns where its unknown monsters hide, 

Measure thy length beneath the Gulf Stream tide — 

Or rest thee on the navel of that sea 

Where, floating on the Maelstrom, abide 

The krakens sheltering under Norway's lee, — 

But go not to Nahant, lest men should swear 

You are a great deal bigger than you are. 



THE FLOURE OF SOUVENANCE. 



WE have already pointed out to the reader the huge hump- 
backed bowlder rising from the sea called Egg Eock, 
The story w^e are about to relate is intimately associated with 
that picturesque object. Loug ago, when Nahant hrst began 
to claim attention as a summer 
resort, two young people met here 
for the first time. The acquaint- 
ance soon ripened into friendship, 
and from friendship into love. 
The pair were inseparable. He 
was devoted to infatuation, she 
too happy to remember that there 
was any world outside of that in 
which they then lived. The lover 
w^as in every way w^orthy of the 
lady, and she of him ; and only 
one thing stood in the way of 

their happiness. That one obstacle lay in the fact that the 
young man w^as an Italian by adoption, although an American 
by birth ; and Alice, the young girl whose love he had won, 
when pressed by him to consent to an immediate marriage, had 
replied : " My dear friend, first go and obtain the sanction of 
your parents, and then it shall all be as you wish," 




FORGET-ME-NOTS. 



160 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Possessed with this purpose, which had now become the sole 
motive of his life, the young man secured a passage in a vessel 
which was to sail in two days for Leghorn. He then returned 
to Nahant in order to spend the few hours remaining to him in 
the society of his betrothed. 

It was the last evening, and the young couple were wandering 
over the brow of the headland where they had so often walked 
before, and whence the long leagues of glittering sea had always 
seemed so beautiful, and the breeze and the billows so invigor- 
ating and elevating to them. Both were silent. Unknown to 
each other, they were musing iipon the question that has dis- 
tracted so many minds, — the serjDent in their Eden, — Since we 
are so happy, why should we be separated 1 But the sullen 
dash of the waves at their feet was their only response. They 
clung to each other and dreamed on. 

While standing thus on the edge of the cliff, a strange fancy 
came into the lover's head. Why it is that in moments of 
supreme trouble the merest triiies should force themselves 
uppermost in our minds, we do not pretend to explain. The 
young man suddenly recollected one of the local traditions, run- 
ning to the effect that the lady who should receive from her 
lover's hand tlie Floure of Souvenance, or Forget-me-not, grow- 
ing only in one lonely spot on the little island before them, 
would remain forever constant. 

" Let me give you one . more proof of my love, dear Alice, 
before we part, and let it be the flower plucked from the summit 
of yonder rock that lies there before us," he gayly said, feeling 
that she would divine his purpose. 

" I require no new proof of your affection," she replied ; " but 
do as you will." 

Unobserved by the lovers, the sea was steadily rising, and 
upon the distant coast the rote was growing every moment 
more ominously distinct. The young man Avas much too in- 
tent, however, upon his object to notice these warning signs ; 
in his present frame of mind he would gladly have braved 
even greater dangers in order to gi'atify his mistress. He ran 



THE FLOUEE OF SOUVENANCE. 161 

lightly down the rocks to wliere his boat was anchored, and in 
a moment more, heedless of the warning voice of a stranger, 
had seated himself at the helm, and was mounting the incoming 
waves on his way to Egg Eock. 

" Wait for the next tide," shouted the warning voice, " or I 
will not answer for your safetj'' ! " 

" The next tide," murmured the young man, " will bear me 
far from her; it is now or never," waving his hand to Alice 
on the cliff. Alice watched him in a kind of stupor ; she had 
heard the voice. " My God ! " she murmured with white lips, 
" what have I done 1 " 

The adventurous young man, however, reached the rock in 
safety, climbed its rugged side, and stood at length on its sum- 
mit. He was soon seen to come down to the shore again, to 
loosen his sail, unmoor, and stand boldly for Nahant. All this 
was seen from the cliff. Alice had not stirred from the spot 
where he had left her. 

But from moment to moment the rising wind and tide, swell- 
ing in angry chorus, rendered the passage more and more peril- 
ous. In vain the intrepid voyager tried to hold his course; 
the little boat seemed to lie at their mercy. Now it sank 
down out of sight, and now it struggled up again to the summit 
of a billow rolling heavily in and shaking the foam from its 
mane. It soon became unmanageable, drifting helplessly toward 
the rocks. The seas drenched it, the darkness closed around it ; 
but as it came nearer and nearer, the lookers-on could see the 
young man still grasping the helm as if buoyed up by the hope 
of steering to some opening among the rocks where he might 
safely land. At one moment it seemed as if he would succeed ; 
but in another the boat was swallowed up by a breaker that 
crushed it like an egg-shell against the rocks, at the feet of 
the spectators. The next day the body was recovered ; in its 
clenched and stiffened hand was the fatal Forget-me-not. 



11 



162 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



SWAMPSCOTT BEACH. 

SWAMPSCOTT is a succession of hard sand-beaches and 
rocky, picturesque headlands, forming with Nahant, Nahaut 
Bay. It was formerly, as we remember, a part of Lynn ; and so 
closely are they united to-day, that it would require a surveyor to 
tell where the one ends or the otlier begins. In making a tour of 
the shores one crosses successively King's Beach, Whale Beach, 
and Phillips Beach, — all of which are the summer playground of 
the multitudes who in that season come here for health or recrea- 
tion, or for both. The high and glittering shore sweeps gracefully 
around toward the east, far out into tlie ocean, until it is frittered 
away in a cluster of foam-crested ledges that lie in treacherous 
ambuscade at its extreme point. That curving shore is Phillips 
Point, and the reef is Dread Ledge. There is a handsome villa 
or cottage for every elevated site along the two miles of shore. 

The extremity of Phillips Point is a wicked-looking shore, and 
Dread Ledge is the synonyme for danger to the mariner. The 
surrounding waters are thickly sown Avith half-submerged rocks, 
which in the delirium of a gale seem rooted in hell itself. Here, 
in January, 1857, the ill-fated Tedesco was swallowed up, with 
every soul on board ; and such was the mastery of the tempest 
over things terrestrial, that the disaster was not known in tlie 
neighboring village until the following day. In that memorable 
gale the sea inundated the marshes, swept unchecked over its 
ordinary barriers, and heaped a rampart of frozen surf upon the 
beaches, in Avhich the broken masts of wrecks were left sticking. 
Streets and roads were so blocked up by immense snowdrifts, 
that all travel was suspended for several days. The ponderous 
anchors of the Tedesco were found lying, where the seas had 
thrown them, upon the top of a rock ; and they were all that 



SWAMPSCOTT BEACH. 163 

was left to tell the tale, for not a vestige of the hull remained. 
Another vessel was afterward wrecked here ; but, being driven 
nearer the land, her crew, one by one, walked to the shore over 
the bowsprit. 

Swampscott was, and still is, a typical JSTew-England fishing- 
village ; that is its true estate. The summer visitors are mere 
birds of passage ; but the men who are native here pursue their 
hazardous calling the whole year through. Nothing can be 
more curious than to see the old life of a place thus preserved in 
the midst of the wealth and fashion that have grown up around 
it and overshadowed it. But in this fact we think lies one 
great charm of such a place. 

There is no dif&culty whatever in placing the scene of Haw- 
thorne's " Village Uncle" here. That sketch is in truth only a 
series of pictures of the surroundings and of the plain fisherfolk, 
taken from life, to which, from the snug chimney-corner of a 
fisherman's humble cottage, the garrulous old "Uncle" adds his 
own store of gossip and of sea-lore. Hear him : — 

" Toss on an armful of those dry oak-chips, — the last relics of the 
' Mermaid's ' knee-timbers, the bones of your namesake, Susan. Higher 
yet, and clearer, be the blaze, till our cottage windows glow the rud- 
diest in the village, and the hght of our household mirth flash far 
across the bay to Nahant. 

" Now, Susan, for a sober picture of our village ! It was a small 
collection of dwellings that seemed to have been cast up by the sea, 
with the rock-weed and marine plants that it vomits after a storm, or 
to have come ashore among the pipe-staves and other lumber which 
had been washed from the deck of an Eastern schooner. There was 
just space for the narrow and sandy street between the beach in front 
and a precipitous hill that lifted its rocky forehead in the rear, among 
a waste of juniper-bushes and the wild growth of a broken pastiu-e. 
The village was picturesque in the variety of its edifices, though all 
were rude. Here stood a little old hovel, built perhaps of driftwood ; 
there a row of boat-houses ; and beyond them a two-story dwelhng of 
dark and weatherbeaten aspect, — the whole intermixed with one or 
two snug cottages painted white, a sufficiencj' of pigsties, and a shoe- 
maker's shoi^." 



164 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



By the same family resemblance is Philips Beach recognized 
as the scene of those wayward reveries, " Footprints on the Sea- 
shore/' in which this author thinks aloud, rather than talks, 
betraying the old truant impulse which occasionally mastered 
him to get away from that world in which it is true he lived 
and moved, but could hardly be said to have had liis being. 
We here find him in one of his own creation. 




SALEM LEGENDS. 




SALEM LEGENDS. 



IN" 'New England no town except Plymouth takes precedence 
of Salem in the order of settlement, — a fact of which her 
citizens are naturally as proud as an old family is of its pedigree 
going back to the Conquest, or the Creation. And really, in 
the creation of the Puritan Commonwealth, one represents the 
First Day, and the other the Second. 

The political and commercial fortunes of Salem have been 
singularly alike. Eoger Conant, the founder, and leader of a 
forlorn hope, was eclipsed by Endicott, who was in turn over- 
shadowed by Winthrop, — a man quick to see that no place was 
large enough to contain three governors, two of them deposed, 
one in authority, and all ambitious to lead the Puritan vanguard 
in the great crusade of the century. The site was not approved. 
' He therefore sought out a new one, to which the seat of govern- 
ment was presently removed, leaving Salem, by the course of 
these events, a modest reflection of the Puritan capital, and 
nothing more. The halls of the Essex Institute contain many 
interesting relics of the time when Salem played an important 
part in Colonial history. 

In respect to its commercial importance, which at one time 
was very great, — ships in the Hooghly and the Yang-tse, ships 
at Ceylon and Madagascar, ships on the Gold Coast, in Polynesia 
and Vancouver ; you can hardly put a thought on the wide seas 



168 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

where there were not ships flying like a swarm of industrious 
bees to every far sea and clime, — an importance so great, in- 
deed, that its merchants were called King this and King that, 
while by reason of the frequent intercourse had with those 
"far countrees," its society took a tone and color almost Ori- 
ental ; yet, its greater rival again overshadowing it, most singu- 
larly converted Salem from a seaport of the first rank into a 
modestly flourishing place of manufactures. That side of the 
city representing its old eminence is paralyzed ; while the other 
half, although exhibiting a still vigorous life, has no such dis- 
tinctive traits as when Salem was the recognized mart of the 
Indies. In the cabinets of the Peabody Museum the interested 
visitor sees on all sides a thousand evidences of her ancient com- 
mercial renown, brought from the four quarters of the globe in 
her own ships, and the sole proofs to-day that such renown 
ever existed. 

Quite recently an embassy from the Queen of Madagascar 
arrived in the United States. In the course of tlieir tour they 
visited Boston, not for the sake of anything that city could 
offer as a temptation to African curiosity, but because it lay 
in the route to Salem. They were particularly anxious to see 
Salem, whch is still supposed by many of the natives of Mada- 
gascar to be the only port of much importance in America. 

Storj^, the sculptor-poet, who, like Hawthorne, is Salem-born, 
commemorates these well-remembered scenes of his youth, — 

Ah me, how many an autumn day 
We watched, with palpitating breast, 

Some stately ship from India or Cathay, 
Laden with spicy odors from the East, 
Come sailing up the Bay ! 

Unto our youthful hearts elate, 
What wealth beside their real freight 
Of rich material things they bore ! 
Ours were Arabian cargoes fair, 
Mysterious, exquisite, and rare. 



SALEM LEGENDS. 1G9 

And of the old houses, " dark, gloomy, and peculiar," wherein 
strange things were said to have happened, he says : — 

How oft, half fearfully, we prowled 

Around those gabled houses quaint and old, 

Whose legends, grim and terrible, 

Of witch and ghost that used in them to dwell. 
Around the twilight fire were told ; 

While huddled close with anxious ear 

We heard them quivering with fear ; 

And if the daylight half o'ercame the spell, 
'T v.as with a lingering dread 

We oped the door and touched the stinging beU. 

For with its sound it seemed to rouse the dead. 
And wake some ghost from out the dusky haunts 
Where faint the daylight fell. 

But it so chances — or mischances, according to the light in 
which we may view it — that the very things impeding her pro- 
gress have left Salem all the more interesting for our o^^ti purpose, 
— as, in fact, it must be to him who, receiving his impressions 
from history, expects to find distinct traces of Endicott and of 
Eoger "Williams, oi having imbibed them from romance, eagerly 
looks about him for some authentic memorials of " The Scarlet 
Letter" or for "The House of the Seven Gables." For here the 
past not only survives, but it may be said actually to flourish with 
perennial freshness in old houses, old traditions, old silver, 
antique portraits, and in all the much treasured heirlooms of 
other days. 

The two most noteworthy things that have happened in Salem 
are the Witchcraft Persecution — that anomaly among events — 
and the birth of Xathaniel Hawthorne, — that anomaly among 
men. Without suspecting it, the traveller who arrives by the 
usual route is at once ushered upon the scene of a tragedy in 
whicli it was the guilty who escaped, and the innocent who were 
punished. 

Just out ot the city, on its southern skirt, the Eastern Railway 



170 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

passes within near view of an uncoutli Iieap of steep-sided gray 
rocks, moderately high, on whose windy summit a few houses 
make a group of dusky silhouettes. This is a sort of waste 
place, good neither for planting, grazing, or building, nor likely 
to serve any more useful j^urpose than a stone-quarry or a land- 
mark might, for the region surrounding it. In no way does it 
vary the monotony of the landscape, being wholly treeless and 
almost without vegetation. Travellers look listlessly, and turn 
away. Yet stay a moment ! 

Long ago, so long that no living man remembers it, one soli- 
tary tree grew upon that rocky, wind-swept height. But at length 
a blight fell upon it ; it sickened and died ; its limbs one by one 
rotted and dropped off; and, after contending a while with the 
wintry blasts that threatened to uproot it, the withered skeleton 
of a tree was cut down and cast into the fire. Those cold gray 
ledges Avliere it stood is Gallows Hill. The tree, tradition says, 
was tliat upon which tlie condemned witclies were hung. The 
houses encroach upon the graves of the victims. 

From the moment of passing this fetal place, neither the noise 
nor the throng will be able to distract the stranger's thoughts, 
wholly occupied as they are with the sinister memories that the 
sight has awakened within him. 

Let us throw a glance around us. 

Upon entering the city, the great high-road running north 
and south takes the more ambitious and dignified name of 
street. Upon reaching the heart of the city, it expands into 
a public square, or, not to mix up two distinct eras, the old 
town market-place. At one end the street skirts Gallows Hill. 
As he advances towards the centre, the curious visitor may still 
see the quaint old house, now an apothecary's, in which Eoger 
Williams lived, and in which tradition says that some of the 
witchcraft examinations were held ; in the Square he has arrived 
in the region, half real, half romantic, described in Hawthorne's 
tales (not twice, but a thousand times, told), " Main Street," "A 
Rill from the Town-Pump," and " Endicott and the Red Cross," 
of which latter this is a fragment : — 



SALEM LEGENDS. 171 

" The central object in the mirrored picture was an edifice of 
humble architecture, with neither steeple nor bell to proclaim it — 
what nevertheless it was — the house of prayer. A token of the 
perils of the wilderness was seen in the grim head of a wolf which 
had just been slain within the precincts of the town, and, according to 
the regular mode of claiming the bounty, was nailed to the porch of 
the meeting-house. The blood was still plashing on the door-step. 

" In close vicinity to the sacred edifice appeared that important en- 
gine of Puritanic authority, the whipping-post — with the soil around it 
well trodden by the feet of evil-doers, who had there been disciplined. 
At one corner of the meeting-house was the pillory, and at the other 
the stocks ; and, by a singular good fortune, for our sketch, the head 
of an Episcopalian and suspected Catholic was grotesquely incased 
in the former machine ; while a fellow-criminal who had boister- 
ously quaffed a health to the King was confined by the legs in the 
latter." 

But this truly Hudibrastic picture is only the grimly humo- 
rous prelude to another of a very different nature, upon which is 
founded that story of sin, remorse, and shame, "The Scarlet 
Letter." 

In the tlirong surrounding the culprits just sketched for us, 
" There was likewise a young woman with no mean share of 
beauty, whose doom it was to wear the letter ' A ' on the breast 
of her gown, in the eyes of all the world and her own children. 
And even her own children knew what that initial signified. 
Sporting with her infamy, the lost and desperate creature had 
embroidered the fatal token in scarlet cloth mth golden thread 
and the nicest art of needlework ; so that the capital A might 
have been thought to mean Admirable, or anything rather than 
Adulteress." 

Mr. Hawthorne tells us that he found the missive from which 
this incident is drawn, and which subsequently formed the 
groundwork of his novel, in the room occupied by him in the 
Salem Custom-House while he was serving as surveyor of 
the port under the veteran General James Miller, — the hero 
of Lundy's Lane. In one respect, therefore, the distinguished 
American novelist's life has its analogy to that of Charles Lamb, 




172 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

following whom in his inimitable monologue on the South Sea 
House, which forms the initial chapter to the " Essays of Elia " 
our own countrjanan, though in a different spirit, sketches the 
Old Custom-House and its corps of superannuated weighers, 
gangers, and tide-waiters as the introduc- 
tory chapter to " The Scarlet Letter." 

This old red-brick edifice, if we except 
a later renovation of its interior, stands 
precisely as it did in the novelist's time, — 
the prominent object in a region which it 
is only too evident has seen better days, 
but is gradually growing more and more 
ruinous as every year the houses grow 
irraver and more shaky. The same flag 

THE SCARLET LETTER. » -^ '' ^ 

waves from the cupola, the same eagle, 
much tarnished, however, by the weather, extends its gilded 
wings above the entrance door. The novelist describes it in a 
grimly satirical way as an asylum for decayed politicians, who 
dozed and slept in easy tranquillity during the hours nominally 
devoted to business, there being little to do, except to keep up 
the appearance of official regularity. The surveyor cuts his 
portraits with a diamond. His desk, showing the marks of a 
nervous or an idle hand visible in many hues and gashes upon 
it, is preserved among the curiosities of Plummer Hall. When 
we look at it, even the homage due to genius can hardly pre- 
vent a feeling of pity rising for the life that was so long overcast 
by the gloom of unfulfilled aspirations, so embittered by the 
tardiness of a recognition which came too late. 

Not far from the Custom-House, in a narrow by-street, is the 
ancient wooden tenement in which the novelist was born. We 
pass, as it were, through a corner of the eighteenth century, of 
which this house is indubitably a relic. It is an humble dwell- 
ing, with humble surroundings. Here he wrote many of the 
shorter tales, that it is entirely safe to say have now more readers 
than when they first saw the light, and many more that he tells 
us were committed to the flames ; here he kept that long and 



SALEM LEGENDS. 173 

weary vigil while v;aiting fur the slow dawning of his fame ; 
and here he tells us that it was won. 

To these early struggles, ending with repeated disappointment, 
is doubtless to be ascribed the indifference with which Haw- 
thorne speaks of the city of his birth. He refers his return to 
it from time to time to a sort of fatahty which he passively 
obeyed. Though indeed he admits a certain languid attrac- 
tion to it, we can hardly distinguish it from repulsion, so inti- 
mately do these opposite feelings mingle in the current. Yet 
the same hand that penned " The House of the Seven Gables " 
and the " Old Custom-House " puts the early history of Salem in 
a nutshell in " Main Street ;" and it also gave us those fascinat- 
ing chapters of revery, "Sights from a Steeple" and "A Rill 
from the Town-Pump," — all drawn from the associations of 
the master's birthplace. 

But to speak of things as they are, " The Scarlet Letter " was 
really one of those ingenious methods of punishment, almost 
Satanic in their conception, which disgrace the criminal annals 
of the Colony. For different offences a different letter was pre- 
scribed, to be worn as well in private as in public, — the wearer 
thus being made, perhaps for a lifetime, the living record of his 
or her own infamy. The drunkard wore a capital letter D, the 
criminal convicted of incest an I, of heresy an H, and of adultery 
an A, sewed on the arm or breast ; and this accusing insignia was 
forbidden to be removed upon pain of a severer penalty, if such 
a thing were possible. Many a poor sinner thus wore his heart 
upon his sleeve, " for daws to peck at." 

The novelist, by instinct, seized upon one of the most strik- 
ing episodes of the hard Puritan life. The scene of his tale is 
laid, not in Salem, but in Boston. As we have said, the sketch 
of " Endicott and the Eed Cross " contains the germ of this 
story, which afterward became in the author's hands the work 
generally conceded to be his greatest. 

Although Hawthorne makes bit slight use of the witchcraft 
history in constructing his "House of the Seven Gables," the 
opening chapter of that remarkable story shows him to have 



174 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

been familiar with it. But notwithstanding the apparent adher- 
ence to truth there, contrived with such consummate art as to 
fix the impression in the reader's mind that the legend of the 
old Pyncheon family is derived from some authentic source, it 
will be better to regard the author's statement, made in his own 
characteristic way, " that the reader, according to his own pleas- 
ure, may either disregard, or allow it to float imperceptibly about 
the characters and events for the sake of picturesque effect." 
Thus by freely availing himself of the names of actual person- 
ages whose history is artfully interwoven with occurrences that 
have really happened, and again by associating these with local 
descriptions of rare fidelity, the wished-for efl^ect of solid reality 
is produced, and the story proceeds on a chain of circumstantial 
evidence whose strength lies solely in the master-hand that fab- 
ricated it, link by link, from the materials of his own rich fancy. 
In the concluding words of his preface, the author, with singular 
frankness, wlien his purpose is considered, again disenthralls the 
minds of his auditors of the effect which he Avas quick to see 
that his peculiar method must inevitably produce therein. But 
as a preface is always the last thing written, so it notorious^ is 
the last to be read ; and thus has the author's apology for introdu- 
cing names which struck his fancy, and for connecting them with 
scenes familiar to him from boyhood, so far failed of its pur- 
pose, that people still persist in prying into the antecedents of a 
family, distinguished in the early annals of New England, on 
whose escutcheon no stain or stigma is known to rest ! 

After this explanation it will be scarcely necessary to observe 
that the words which are put into the mouth of Matthew Maule 
at the moment he is ascending the fatal ladder, a condemned 
and abhorred wizard, and which form the underlying motive of 
the " House of the Seven Gables," — the blight of an evil destiny 
passing from generation to generation, — were as a matter of 
fact really spoken by Sarah Good, not to Colonel Pyncheon, but 
to the Reverend Nicholas Noyes, who most cruelly and wickedly 
embittered her last moments by telling her that she was a mis- 
erable Avitch. And it was to him she made the memorable 



SALEM LEGENDS. 175 

reply that " if he took away her life, God would give him blood 
to drink." 

There is, however, reason for supposing, since it has been so 
minutely described, that the house of the seven gables was 
at least suggested by that of Philip English, who was near 
becoming a martyr to the witchcraft horror himself. What is 
clearer still, is that the novelist has laid several of the old 
Colonial houses, both in Salem and Boston, under contribution 
for whatever might embellish his descrij^tion, which is certainly 
no invention, but is a true picture of the early architecture even 
in its minutest details. But in such an unreal atmosphere as 
surrounds it, we are not sure that the house itself may not turn 
out to be an illusion of the mirage created by an effort of the 
weird romancer's will. Its appearance is thus portrayed in the 
opening Avords of the romance, — 

" There it rose, a little withdrawn from the line of tlie street, but in 
pride, not modesty. Its whole visible exterior was ornamented with 
quaint figures, conceived in the grotesqueness of a Gothic fancy, 
and drawn or stamped in the glittering plaster, composed of lime, 
pebbles, and bits of glass, with which the woodwork of the walls was 
overspread. On every side the seven gables pointed sharply towards 
the sky, and presented the aspect of a whole sisterhood of edifices, 
breathhig through the spiracles of one great chimney. The many 
lattices, with their small, diamond-shaped panes, admitted the sun- 
light into hall and chamber, while nevertheless the second story, 
projecting far over the base, and itself retiring beneath the third, 
threw a shadowy and thoughtful gloom into the lower rooms. Carved 
globes of wood were affixed under the jutting stories. Little spiral 
rods of iron beautified each of the scA'en peaks. On the triangular 
portion of the gable, that fronted next the street, was a dial, put up 
that very morning, and on which the sun was still marking the pas- 
sage of the first bright hour in a history that was not destined to be 
all so bright." 



176 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



THE ESCAPE OF PHILIP ENGLISH. 

THE story of Philip English and his wife is quite as well 
worthy a romance as the house in which they lived. We 
can moreover, answer for its strict truth. 

During the time of the witchcraft delusion at the Village, the 
victims were in nearly every case people in the humblest walk of 
life. Philip English of Salem was the first person of superior 
station to be attainted by this persecution, which, like a wolf 
that is maddened by the taste of blood, began to grow bolder in 
pursuit of its victims. 

Philip English had emigrated to America from the island of 
Jersey. Having found a home in the family of Mr. William 
Hollingsworth, a wealthy inhabitant of Salem, he formed the 
acquaintance of Mr. Hollingsworth's only child, Susanna, who, 
as is evident from her history, besides having received from her 
father an education superior to the usual requirements of that 
day, possessed rare endowments of mind and person. The 
acquaintance ripened into mutual affection, and in due time 
Philip English married the daughter of his friend and j^atron. 
He too became in time a rich and eminent merchant. 

In April, 1692, the terrible accusation fell like a thunderbolt 
upon this happy home. The wife and mother was the first 
victim to the credulity or malignity of her neighbors. In the 
night the officer entered her bedchamber, read his fatal Avar- 
rant, and then surrounded the house with guards, intending to 
carry her to prison in the morning. Mrs. English gave herself 
up for lost. With supreme heroism, however, she gathered her 
stricken family together in the morning to its usual devotions, 
gave directions for the education of her children, clasped them 
to her bosom, kissed them, and then, commending them and her- 



THE ESCAPE OF PHILIP ENGLISH. 



177 



self to God, bade them farewell. She was then taken by the 
sheriff before the sitting magistrates, Hathorne and Curvven, 
who committed her to Salem jail as a witch. Her firmness is 
memorable. A little later her husband was also accused by a 
poor bedridden creature. He concealed himself for a time ; but 
at length he came forward, gave himself up, and demanded the 




PHILIP ENGLISH S HOUSE, SALEM. 

privilege of sharing his wife's fate. The two Avere immured in 
the same dungeon to await the solemn farce of a trial. The 
prison being crowded to overflowing, English and his wife 
were, through the intercession of friends, removed to the jail in 
Boston, where for six weeks they endured the dismal prospect 
of dying together upon the scaffold. 

12 



178 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Bat fortunately for theiu, and in consequence, doubtless, of 
the fact that English was a merchant of property, and a person 
of known probity, he and his unfortunate wife were admitted 
to bail, being allowed the privilege of the town by day, on 
condition of punctually returning to the prison at night, to be 
locked up again until the following morning. Though ren- 
dering their condition more tolerable, this did not make it 
the less hopeless, Tliey were visited in their prison by some 
of the most eminent clergymen of the town, one of whom, 
the Reverend Joshua Moody, — peace to his memory! — mani- 
fested the deepest interest in their spiritual and temporal wel- 
fare. This good man, whose sound head refused to admit the 
prevailing delusion, while his equally sound heart fitted him for 
deeds of mercy, like that iij^on Avhich he was now bent, went to 
the prison on the day before English and his wife were to be 
taken back to Salem for trial, and invited them to attend at pub- 
lic worship in his church. They went. 

When he ascended the pulpit, the clergyman announced 
as his text this vei'se, having a pecJuliar significance to two of 
his hearers : " If they persecute you in one city, flee into 
another ! " 

In his discourse, the preacher justified, with manly courage 
and directness, any and every attempt to escape from the forms 
of justice when justice itself Avas being violated in them. 
After the service was over, the minister again visited the prison- 
ers in their cell, and asked English pointedly wlrether he had 
detected the meaning of his sermon of the morning. English 
hesitating to commit himself, Mr. Moody frankly told him that 
his own life and that of his wife were in danger, and that he. 
looking this in the face, ought to provide for an escape without 
losing a moment. English could not believe it ; it was too 
monstrous. " God will not suffer them to hurt me," he said in 
this conviction. 

" What," exclaimed his wife, " do you not think that they 
who have suffered already were innocent ? " 

" Yes." 



THE ESCAPE OF PHILIP ENGLISH. 179 

" Why, then, may we not suffer also 1 Take Mr. Moody's 
advice ; let us fly." 

To make an end of this indecision, proceeding from the fear 
that flight would be quickly construed to mean guilt, Mr. Moody 
then unfolded his plan. He told the reluctant English that 
everything necessary for his escape had been already provided : 
that the Governor, Sir William Phips, was in the secret, and 
countenanced it; that the jailer had his instructions to open 
the prison doors ; and that, finally, all being in readiness, at 
midnight a conveyance, furnished by friends who were in the 
plot, would come to carry them away to a place of security. 
In fact every precaution that prudence could suggest or fore- 
see, or that influence in high places could secure, had been 
taken by this noble and self-sacrificing Christian man in order 
to prevent the shedding of innocent blood. He procured let- 
ters, under Sir William's own hand and seal, to Governor 
Fletcher of New York, thus providing for the fugitives, first 
a safeguard, and next an inviolable asylum. Finally, he told 
English plainly that if he did not carry his wife off, he, 
Moody, would do so himself. The affair was arranged on the 
spot. 

At the appointed time the prison doors were unbarred, the 
prisoners came out, and while the solemn stillness of midnight 
brooded over the afflicted town, they fled from persecution in 
one city into another. 

Governor Fletcher took the homeless wanderers into his own 
mansion, where he made them welcome, not as fugitives from 
justice, but as exiles fleeing from persecution. They were enter- 
tained as the most honored of guests. The next year Philip 
English returned home. The storm of madness had passed by, 
leaving its terrible marks in many households. His own was 
destined to feel its consequences in a Avay to turn all his joy 
into sorrow. Within two years from the time she was i:orn 
from her home to answer the charge of felony, Mrs. Eng- 
lish died of the cruel treatment she had received. Mr. Moody's 
course was commended by all discerning men, as it deserved ; 



180 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

but he felt the angry resentment of the multitude, among whom 
sjme persons of high rank were included. In consequence of 
this persecution he returned to his old charge at Portsmouth, 
New Hampshire, the next year after his successful interpo- 
sition to save Mr. and Mrs. English from the executioner's 
hands. 

Such is the tradition long j^reserved in the English family. 
Philip English's granddaughter became Susanna Hathorne, — 
which was the original way of spelling the name subsequently 
borne by the novelist. Nathaniel Hawthorne had thus on one 
side for an ancestor the implacable persecutor of those to whom 
he was afterward to be related by intermarriage, thus furnish- 
ing the idea he has so ingeniously worked out in the "House of 
the Seven Gables." 

Having given an extract from Hawthorne's story of "Endicott 
and the Eed Cross," we may as well tell, with his help, the 
story itself. 



ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS. 

T"N 1634 one of the newly arrived ships brought from Eng- 
-L land a copy of the commission granted to the two Arch- 
bishops and ten of the Council to regulate all plantations, to 
call in all patents, to make laws, raise tithes and portions for 
ministers, to remove and punish governors, and to hear and 
determine all causes and inflict all punishments, even to the 
death-penalty. This plenary power, the Colonists were advised, 
was levelled at them ; ships and soldiers were said to be pre- 
paring in England to bring over a royal governor and to give 
effect to the much-dreaded commission. A more distasteful 
piece of intelligence than this could hardly be imagined. It 
struck at once at the root of all their liberties, and it quickly 



ENDICOTT AND THE RED CEOSS. 



181 




CUTTINa OUT THE CROSS. 



aroused the spirit of resistance in full vigor. The work of erect- 
ing fortifications was hastened. A solemn consultation between 
the magistrates and the ministers 
resulted in the determination to 
defend themselves against these 
innovations by force if there was 
a prospect of success, or by tem- 
porizing if there were none. Only 
in the fourth year of its existence, 
the Colony now stood on the 
verge of open rebellion ; and while 
thus in daily apprehension of the 
total subversion of the govern- 
ment, an act coming very little 
sliort of treasonable was per- 
formed. 

At the J^ovember court com- 
plaint was made by Richard 

Brown, of Watertown, that the Colony flag had been defaced 
at Salem by cutting out part of the red cross. No action was 
taken at this court, but at the next, Endicott, the old governor, 
was called upon to answer for the defacement. The cause that 
he alleged for the act was that the cross was the hated emblem 
and banner of Popery. Opinion being divided, some upholding 
and others censuring, the cause was again postponed ; and in the 
meantime the newly created military commission ordered all the 
ensigns to be laid aside, so that the Colony was now without 
any flag at all. 

At the next court, which Avas one of election, John Haynes 
was cliosen governor and Richard Bellingham deputy-governor. 
Endicott was left this time out of the number of assistants ; and 
lieing again called upon to defend his mutilating the ensign, was 
reprimanded, and disqualified from holding office for a year. 
Letters disavowing the act were written to England. To allay 
the excitement growing out of this affair, it was seriously 
proposed to substitute the red and white rose for the cross 



182 



I'fEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



ill the colors. The military commission afterward, in the 
exercise of its powers, left out the cross in the colors borne 

by the Colony troops, and 
caused a flag having the 
King's arras to be raised over 
the castle in Boston Har- 
bor. This leads us to ob- 
serve that the fathers of the 
Colony were making rapid 
strides towards independence. 
They had first refused to 
tolerate the only form of re- 
ligious "worship recognized by 
the laws of their country, 
had disobeyed a royal man- 
date, and had at length exer- 
cised the sovereignty of an 
independent State by adopt- 
ing a flag of their own. 

With this preamble we 
can take up understandiiigly 
HaAvthorne's tale, and from this point it is he who speaks : — 

" Such was the aspect of the times when the folds of an English 
banner, with the red cross in its field, were flung out over a com- 
pany of Puritans. Their leader, the famous Endicott, was a man 
of stern and resolute countenance, the eftect of which was height- 
ened by a grizzled beard that swept the upper portion of his breast- 
plate. ..." 

Having concluded a fiery harangue to his soldiers, in which 
he acquaints them with the dangers menacing the unrestrained 
liberty of conscience they have hitherto enjoyed, — 

" Endicott gazed round at the excited countenances of the people, 
now full of his own spirit, and then turned suddenly to the standard- 
bearer, who stood close behind him. 

" ' Officer, lower your banner ! ' said he. 




SOLDIER OF 1630. 



CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK. 183 

" The officer obeyed ; and brandishing his sword, Endicott thrnst 
it through the cloth, and with his left hand rent the red cross com- 
pletely out of the banner. He then waved the tattered ensign above 

his head. 

'•' ' Sacrilegious wretch ! ' cried the High Churchman in the pillory, 
unable longer to restrain himself, ' thou hast rejected the symbol of 
our holy religion ! ' 

" ' Treason, treason ! ' roared the royalist in the stocks. ' He hath 
defaced the King's banner ! ' 

" ' Before God and man I will avouch the deed,' answered Endi- 
cott. ' Beat a flourish, drummer ! — shout, soldiers and people ! — in 
honor of the ensign of New England. Neither Pope nor Tyrant hath 
part in it now ! ' 

« With a cry of triumph, the people gave their sanction to one of 
the boldest exploits which our history records. And forever honored 
be the name of Endicott ! We look back through the mist of ages, 
and recognize, in the rending of the red cross from New England's 
banner, the first omen of that deliverance which our fathers consum- 
mated, after the bones of the stern Puritan had lain more than a 
century in the dust." 

In the King's " Missive," Whittier cominem orates briefly the 
same incident of history. 



CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK. 

A NOTHER Salem legend recalls the dark day of Quaker 
-Ol- persecution vividly before us. It is another story of 
the cruelties perpetrated upon this sect, whose innovations upon 
the forms of religious worship established in the Puritan Colony 
and made part of its fundamental law, were regarded and pun- 
ished as heresies threatening the stability of its institutions, — 
with what incredible rigor the records show. 

The Quaker poet has taken this sad chapter for the theme of 
his poem entitled '■ Cassandra Southwick," and as the legitimate 



184 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



avenger of the cruel wrongs inflicted so long ago upon the suf- 
fering Friends, he now applies the lash unsparingly to the mem- 
ory of those who acted prominent parts in commencing these 
barbarities. This may be called poetic justice in its most literal 
sense. 

We will not ask whether, in obeying the impulse to right one 
wrong, the poet in presenting this case has done full justice to 




CONDEMNED TO BE SOLD. 

the spirit of history. His is a righteous indignation, to which 
every sympathetic heart quickly resi)onds. Is'evertheless it 
should be said, in passing, that the sins of the rulers were 
those of a majority of the people, who, by first making the laws 
against the Quakers, and then consenting to their enforcement,— 
upon the maxim that a liouse divided against itself cannot stand, 
— are the really guilty objects of this posthumous arraignment. 
Endicott, Norton, Rawson, and the others Avere but the agents. 



CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK. 185 

To construct his poem, to secure in advance for his theme the 
greatest possible sympathy, the poet has centred our attention 
upon a woman, — a maiden in whom faith and fortitude are 
strongly and beautifully developed, and who in the midst of her 
sufferings — for her tender back has felt the lash — confronts 
her persecutors with the calm resignation of a Christian martyr 
and the spirit of a Joan of Arc. 

We cannot help it if much of the glamour thus throAvn around 
the legendary tale should disappear in our plain, unvarnished oue. 
JJut it shall speak for itself. Cassandra Southwick was the wife 
of Laurence Southwick, a citizen of Salem in the year 1656. 
They were a grave couple, advanced in years, and had three 
grown up children, — ■ Provided, a daughter ; and Josiah and 
Daniel, their sons. The whole family ujiited with the Society 
of Friends, fell under suspicion, and were included in the per- 
secution which resulted in their being driven from their homes 
into exile and death. The parents being banished from the 
Colony upon pain of death, they fled to Shelter Island, where 
they lived only a short time, one dying within three days' time 
of the other, and bequeathing the memory of their wrongs to 
their children. 

While the aged couple and Josiah, the son, were languishing 
in Boston jail, Provided and Daniel being left at home, ■ — - pre- 
sumably in want, since the cattle and household goods had 
already been distrained, in order to satisfy the fines repeatedly 
imposed upon them by the courts — these two, who in the nar- 
rative are called children, were also fined ten pounds for not 
attending public worship at Salem. 

To get this money, the General Court sitting at Boston issued 
this order : — 

" Whereas Daniel and Provided Southwick, son and daughter to 
Laurence Southwick, have been fined by the County Courts at Salem 
and Ipswich, pretending they have no estates, resolving not to work ; 
and others likewise have l)een fined, and more [are] like to be fined, 
for siding with the Quakers, and absenting themselves from the public 
ordinances, — in answer to a cpiestion what course shall be taken for 



186 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

the satisfaction of the hues, the Court, on perusal of the law, title 
• Arrests,' resolve, that the treasurers of the several counties are, and 
shall hereby be, empowered to sell the said j^ersons to any of the 
English nation at Virginia or Barbadoes." 

Joseph Besse, in liis account of the allair, goes on to state 
that, — 

" Pursuant to this order, Edward Butter, one of the treasurers, to 
get something of the booty, sought out for passage to send them to 
Barl)adoes for sale ; but none were willing to take or carry them. 
And a certain master of a ship, to put the thing off, pretended that 
they would spoil all the ship's company ; to which Butter replied, 
' No, you need not fear that ; for they are poor, harmless creatures, 
and will not hurt anybody.' 

" ' Will they not so 1 ' replied the shipmaster ; ' and will you offer 
to make slaves of such harmless creatures V 

" Thus Butter, notwithstanding his wicked intention, when he could 
get no opportunity to send them away, the winter being at hand, sent 
them home again to shift for themselves." 

This is the account that is followed hy Whittier in " Cassan- 
dra Soutliwick." The parents were, as we have said, banished. 
Josiah, who had been whipped from town to town at the cart's 
tail, fined, imprisoned, and finally banished, went over to Eng- 
land, there to give testimony against liis oppressors. But while 
neither the Quaker maiden nor her brother was actually sold 
into bondage, it was only a few months later that the former 
was scourged upon the bare back and again committed to prison. 

In the poet's hands these incidents are woven into a narra- 
tive of deepest pathos and fervor ; and though the coloring is 
heightened, it will be observed that the incidents themselves are 
nearly all true, the poet having arranged them to suit his own 
fancy. The girl lies on her pallet awaiting the fulhlment of the 
sentence she is to undergo on the morrow. She stands in the 
market-place in the presence of a gaping crowd. She turns with 
withering scorn upon the minister who is whispering counsel 
or siipport into Endicott's ear. Her innocence, her beauty, and 
her sufferings plead for her in the hearts of those wlio have 



CASSANDKA SOUTHWICK. 187 

come to deride, perhaps to insult, her. Que burst of honest 
wrath quickly turns the scale in her favor. No one will take 
her away. The iniquitous proceedings are stopped, and the 
Quaker maiden walks away from the spot free, as if by the 
intervention of a miracle. 

Slow broke the gray cold morning ; again the sunshine fell, 
Flecked with the shade of bar and grate within my lonely cell ; 
The hoar-frost melted on the wall, and upward from the street 
Came careless laugh and idle word, and tread of passing feet. 

At length the heavy bolts fell back, my door was open cast, 
And slowly at the sheriff's side, up the long street I passed ; 
I heard the murmur roimd me, and felt, but dared not see. 
How, from every door and window, the peoj)le gazed on me. 

And there were ancient citizens, cloak-wrapped and grave and cold, 
And grim and stout sea-captains with faces bronzed and old, 
And on his horse, with Rawson, his cruel clerk, at hand. 
Sat dark and haughty Endicott, the ruler of the land. 

Then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning, said, — 
' Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take this Quaker maid ? 
In the Isle of fair Barbadoes, or on Virginia's shore, 
You may hold her at a higher price than Indian girl or Moor." 

A weight seemed lifted from my heart, — a pitying friend was nigh, 
I felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it in his eye ; 
And when again the sheriff spoke, that voice, so kind to me, 
Growled back its stormy answer like the roaring of the sea, — 

" Pile my ship with bars of silver, — pack with coins of Spanish gold, 
From keel-piece up to deck-plank, the roomage of her hold. 
By the living God who made me ! — I would sooner in your bay 
Sink ship and crew and cargo, than bear this child away ! " 

I looked on haughty Endicott ; with weapon half-way drawn. 
Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hate and scorn ; 
Fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned in silence back. 
And sneering priest and baffled clerk rode murmuring in his track. 



188 . NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



THE WITCHCRAFT TRAGEDY. 

THE place where a great crime has been committed has 
always something strangely fascinating about it. Accursed 
though it may be, repulsive as its associations generally are, yet 
most people will go a greater distance to see the locality of a 
murder than they would take the trouble to do for any other 
purpose whatsoever. The house where a great man has been 
born is often quite unknown and unvisited even in its own 
neighborhood ; the house that is associated with a murder or a 
homicide never is. 

Charles Lamb hits the nail tairly on the head — and he 
is speaking not of New, but of Old, England — when he says 
that, — 

" We are too hasty when we set down our ancestors in the gross for 
fools for the monstrous inconsistencies (as they seem to us) involved 
in their creed of witchcraft. In the relations of this visible world we 
find them to have been as rational and shrewd to detect an historic 
anomaly as ourselves. But when once the invisible world was sup- 
posed to be opened, and the lawless agency of bad spirits assumed, 
what measures of probability, of decency, of fitness or proportion, — 
of that which distinguishes the likely front" the palpable absurd, — 
could they have to guide them in the rejection or admission of any 
particular testimony ? That maidens pined away, wasting inwardly 
as their waxen images consumed before a fire ; that corn was lodged 
and cattle lamed ; that whirlwinds uptore in diabolic revelry the 
oaks of the forest ; or that spits and kettles only danced a fearful 
innocent vagary about some rustic's kitchen when no wind was stir- 
ring, — were all equally probable where no law of agency was under- 
stood." 

This is the judgment of a keenly analytical and thoughtful 
mind, expressed with the large-hearted human sympathy with 



THE WITCHCRAFT TRAGEDY. 189 

wliich he was endowed. It deals with the universally prevalent 
belief in witchcraft. To reinforce this with the views of an able 
and discriminating jurist will not he deemed out of place here. 

" We may lament, then," says Judge Story in his Centennial Ad- 
dress at Salem, " the errors of tlie times which led to these prosecu- 
tions. But surely our ancestors had no special reasons for shame in 
a belief which had the universal sanction of their own and all former 
ages ; which counted in its train philosophers as well as enthusiasts ; 
which was graced by the learning of prelates as well as the counte- 
nance of kings ; which the law supported by its mandates, and the 
purest judges felt no compunctions in enforcing. Let Witch Hill 
remain forever memorable by this sad catastrophe, not to perpetuate 
our dishonor, but as an affecting, enduring proof of human infirmity, 
— a proof that perfect justice belongs to one judgment-seat only, — 
that which is linked to the throne of God." 

What was this belief, then, which had such high moral and 
legal sanction 1 It was this, — That the Devil might and did 
personally appear to, enter into, and actively direct, the every- 
day life of men. And he did this without the intervention of any 
of those magical arts or conjurations such as were once thought 
indispensable to induce him to put in an appearance. For this 
there was Scripture authority, chapter and verse. He w^as sup- 
posed to come sometimes in one form, sometimes in another, to 
tempt his victims with the promise that upon their signing a 
contract to become his, both body and soul, they should want 
for nothing, and that he would undertake to revenge them upon 
all their enemies. The traditional witch was usually some de- 
crepit old village crone, of a sour and malignant temper, Avho 
was as thoroughly hated as feared ; but this did not exclude men 
from sharing in the power of becoming noted wdzards, — though 
from the great number of women who were accused, it would 
appear that the Arch-Enemy usually preferred to try his arts 
upon the weaker and more impressible sex. The fiital compact 
was consummated by the victim registering his or her name in 
a book or upon a scroll of parchment, and with his own blood. 
The form of these contracts is nowhere preserved. Sometimes, 



190 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

as is instanced in tlie negotiation between Oliver Cromwell and 
the Devil before the Battle of Worcester, there was a good deal 
of haggling. The bargain being concluded, Satan delivered to 
his new recruit an imp or familiar spirit, which sometimes had 
the form of a cat, at others of a mole, of a bird, of a miller-fly, or 
of some other insect or animal. These were to come at call, do 
such mischief as they should be commanded, and at stated times 
be permitted to suck the wizard's blood. Feeding, suckling, or re- 
warding these imps was by the law of England declared Felony. 

Witches, according to popular belief, had the power to ride at 
will through the air on a broomstick or a sjDit, to attend distant 
meetings or sabbaths of witches ; but for this purpose they must 
first have anointed themselves Avith a certain magical ointment 
given to them by the Fiend. Tliis is neither more nor less than 
what our forefathers believed, what was solemnly incorporated 
into the laws of the land, and what was as solemnly preached 
from the pulpit. A perusal of the witchcraft examinations shows 
us how familiar even children of a tender age were with all the 
forms of this most formidable and fatal, but yet not unaccount- 
able, superstition. 

In the course of those remarkable trials at Salem, several of 
the accused persons, in order to save their lives, confessed to hav- 
ing signed their names in the Devil's book, to having been bap- 
tized by him, and to having attended midnight meetings of 
witches, or sacraments held upon the green near the minister's 
house, to which they came riding through the air. They ad- 
mitted that he had sometimes appeared to them in the form of 
a black dog or cat, sometimes in that of a horse, and once as 
" a fine grave man,' but generally as a black man of severe 
aspect. These fables show the prevalent form of the belief 
among the people. It was generally held to be impossible for 
a witch to say the Lord's Prayer correctly ; and it is a matter of 
record that one woman, while under examination, was put to 
this test, when it was noticed that in one place she substituted 
some words of lier own for those of the prayer. Such a failure 
of memory was considered, even by some learned judges, as a 



THE WITCHCKAFT TRAGEDY, 



191 



decisive proof of guilt. Even the trial of throwing a witch into 
the water, to see whether she would sink or swim, was once 
made in Connecticut. 

The scene of the Avitchcraft outbreak of 1692 is an elevated 
knoll of no great extent, rising among the shaggy hills and 
spongy meadows that lie at some distance back from the more 
thickly settled part of the town of Danvers, Massachusetts, 
formerly Salem Village. It is indeed a quiet little neighbor- 
hood to have made so much noise in the world. Somehow, en- 




TUE PARSONAGE, SALEM VILLAGE. 



terprise avoids it, leaving it, as we see it to-day, cold and lifeless. 
The first appearance of everything is so peaceful, so divested of 
all hurry or excitement, as to suggest an hereditary calm, — a 
pastoral continued from generation to generation. Then, as the 
purpose which has brought him hither comes into his mind, 
the visitor looks about him in doubt whether this can really 
be the locality of that fearful tragedy. 

Yes, here are the identical houses that were standing when those 
unheard-of events took place, still solemnly commemorating them, 
as if doomed to stand eternally. This village street is the same 



192 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



old highway through which the dreadful infection spread from 
house to house unto the remote corners of the ancient sliire, until, 
as we read, there were forty men of Andover that 
could raise the devil as well as any astrologer. 
'^'^X Here too is tlu; site of the old meeting-house, in 
which those amazing scenes, the witchcraft exami- 
nations, took place. A little Hirther on we come to 
the spot of ground, as yet unbu^ilt upon, where the 
Parsonage with the lean-to chamber stood. The 
sunken outlines of the cellar are still to be seen, 
and even some relics of the house itself remain 
in the outbuildings attached to tlie Wadsworth 
mansion, which overlooks the " Witch-Ground," 
and which was built in the same year that the 
old Parsonage was pulled down. It was in this 
" Ministry House," as it was then called, that the 
circle of young girls met, whose denunciations, 
equivalent to the death-warrant of the accused 
person, soon overspread the laud with desolation 
and woe ; and it was here that the alleged 
midnight convocations of witches met to celebrate 
USED BY their unholy sacraments, and to renew their sol- 
jACOBs WHEN euiu league and covenant with Satan, in draughts 
EXECUTION °^ blood, and by inscribing their names in his 

fatal book. 
It makes one sick at heart to think of a child only eleven 
years old, such as Abigail Williams was, taking away the 
lives of men and Avomen who had always borne unblemished 
reputations among their friends and neighbors, by identifying 
them as having attended these meetings, and of having hurt 
this or that person. These poor creatures could scarcely under- 
stand that they were seriously accused by one so young of a 
crime made capital by the law. But their doubts were soon 
removed. Once they were accused, every man's hand was 
against them. Children testified against their own parents, 
husbands against their wives, wives against their husbands, 



THE WITCHCKAFT TRAGEDY. 193 

neiglibor against neighbor. One's blood alternately boils and 
freezes while reading the damning evidence of the record to the 
fatal infatuation of the judges, to their travesty of justice, to their 
pitiless persecution of the prisoners at the bar, and to the over- 
mastering terror tliat silenced the voice of humanity in this 
stricken community. Panic reigned everywhere supreme. It is 
an amazing history; but, incredible as it seems, it is yet all true. 
Would that it were not ! 

The main features of these trials are so familiar to all, that it 
will only be necessary to refer to the fact that some hundreds 
of innocent persons were thrown into prison, while twenty were 
barbarously executed, at the instance- of some young girls of the 
Village, who went into violent convulsions, real or pretended, as 
soon as they were confronted with the prisoners at the bar. The 
convictions were had upon " spectre " evidence, — that is to say, 
the strange antics of the possessed girls were considered as proof 
positive of the criminal power of witchcraft in the accused, — 
shown too in open court, — with which they stood charged. The 
statute assumed that this power could only proceed from a famil- 
iarity or compact with the Evil One, and punished it with death. 
The evidence, however, was of two kinds. When interrogated 
by the magistrates, the girls first gave their evidence calmly, 
like ordinary witnesses to the ci'iminal acts, and then went into 
their spasms, which all believed were caused by the prisoners. 
Their incoherent ravings and outcries were also taken as good 
and valid testimony, and are so recorded. 

These remarkable proceedings are not, however, without a 
precedent. The tragical story of Urbain Grandier develops the 
same characteristics. His popularity as a preacher having ex- 
cited the envy of the monks, they instigated some nuns to play 
the part of persons possessed, and in their convulsions to charge 
Grandier with being the cause of their evil visitation. This 
horrible though absurd charge was sanctioned by Cardinal 
Eichelieu on grounds of personal dislike. Grandier was tried, 
condemned, and burnt alive, April 18, 1634, more than half 
a century earlier than the proceedings occurring at Salem. 

13 



194 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Though humanity may well revolt at the explanation, the theory 
of imposture, pure and simple, begun and maintained by these 
girls of Salem Village, is the one we turn from in dismay as a 
thing not indeed proved, or even admitted, but as a haunting 
probability that will not down at our bidding. 



GILES COREY, THE WIZARD. 

UNDOUBTEDLY the most dramatic incident of this carni- 
val of death was the trial and execution of Giles Corey, 
who, seeing the fate of all those who had preceded him, stub- 
bornly refused to plead ; and, to vindicate the majesty of the law 
he had thus defied, he was condemned to the atrocious ^^eine forte 
et dure of the Dark Ages. The incredible sentence was carried 
out to the letter; and this miserable i^risoner, while yet a liv- 
ing and breathing man, was actually crushed to death under 
the pressure of heavy weights. This is the only instance of 
such a punishment being inflicted in New England. We 
shudder to record it. 

Until the appearance of Mr. Longfellow's " New England 
Tragedies," there had been no serious attempt to make waa of 
this sinister chapter for any other purpose than that of impartial 
history. Poets and novelists seem alike to have shunned it. 
The man to whom all eyes would naturally be turned, was de- 
scended from one of the most implacable of the judges, — the 
one, in fact, who had delivered the horrible sentence of the court 
in the case of Giles Corey. In the dramatic version the poet 
makes him say : — 

Ghosts of the dead and A'oices of the living 
Bear witness to your guilt, and you must die ! 
It might have been an easier death ; your doom 
Will be on your own head, and not on ours. 
Twice more will you he questioned of these things, 
Twice more have room to plead or to confess. 



GILES COEEY, THE WIZARD. 195 

If you are contumacious to the Court, 
And if when questioned you refuse to answer, 
Then by the statute you will be condemned 
To the peine forte et dure ! — to have your body 
Pressed by great weights until you shall be dead ! 
And may the Lord have mercy on your soul ! 



Owing to the prisoner's indomitable attitude before his judges, 
but few incidents of this extraordinary trial, or mockery of one, 
remain. The heroic figure of this old man of eighty confront- 
ing judges and accusers in stoical silence is, however, unique in 
its grandeur. From this moment he becomes their peer. Even 
the poet's art could add nothing to the simple recital of the elo- 
quent fact. But such an act of sublime heroism is also deeply 
pathetic. Neither the anathema of the Church, the doom pro- 
nounced upon the wife of his bosom, the solemn warnings of 
his judges, thrice repeated, nor the prospect of an ignominious 
death could unseal the lips of old Giles Corey, obscure husband- 
man though he was. This amazing fortitude wrung from his 
enemies the title of the Man of Iron. His was one of the last 
of the murders committed in the name of the law, and with him 
was thus crushed out the delusion of which lie unquestionably 
was the most remarkable victim. 

The anonymous ballad, written in the old manner, and in an 
ironical vein, perpetuates the cruel history as concisely and as 
truthfully as the prose accounts do : — 



Giles Corey was a Wizzard strong, 
A stubborn wretch was he ; 

And fitt was he to hang on high 
Upon the Locust-tree. 

So when before the magistrates 

For triall he did come. 
He would no true confession make, 

But was compleatlie dumbe. 



196 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

" Giles Corey," said tlie Magistrate, 
" What hast thou heare to pleade 

To these that now accuse thy soule 
01" crimes and horrid deed 1 " 

Giles Corey, he said not a worde, 

No single worde spoke he. 
" Giles Corey," saith the Magistrate, 

" We "U press it out of thee." 

They got them then a heax'y beam, 

They laid it on his breast ; 
They loaded it with heavy stones. 

And hard upon him prest. 

" More weight ! " now said this wretched man ; 

" More weight ! " again he cried ; 
And he did no confession make, 

But wickedly he dyed. 

The tradition was long current in Salem that at stated periods 
the ghost of Corey the wizard appeared on the spot where he 
had su£fered, as the precursor of some calamity that was impend- 
ing over the community, which the apparition came to announce. 
His shade, however, has long since ceased to revisit "the glimpses 
of the moon," and to do duty as a bugbear to frighten unruly 
children into obedience ; but the memory of tliis darkest deed 
in New England's annals is a phantom that will not be laid. 



THE BELL TAVERN MYSTERY. 

THE Bell Tavern was a house for the entertainment of man 
and beast situated in the town of Danvers, fronting the 
highroad running through the village, and thus connecting 
its movement and its events with the rest of the world. So 



THE BELL TAVERN MYSTERY. 197 

loug ago as it was the King's own highway, this road was the 
great artery of New England, through which the blood of its 
commerce, so to speak, flowed to and from the heart of its 
capital, Boston. Boston Stone was then the central milliarmm 
from which the diverging sections ran north and ran south into 
the most remote parts of the Colonies, — on the south to the 
Carolinas, and to the Kennebec settlements on the north. The 
Bell Tavern, being therefore exactly in the great current of travel 
as well as of events, has naturally a history of its own. 

The sign of the tavern was a wooden bell, suspended to the 
crossbeam of a post before the door, with this couplet under- 
neath : — 

I '11 toll you in if you have need, 
And feed you well and bid you speed. 

When the reader knows that within the limits of Danvers, 
while it was yet a precinct of Salem, the witchcraft tragedies 
were enacted ; that General Israel Putnam was born here ; that on 
its borders is the remarkable natural curiosity known as Ship 
Rock ; and that it is the usual residence of the venerable poet and 
philanthropist,Whittier, — hewill see so many reasons for spend- 
ing some hours in the place, should he ever chance to be in the 
neighborhood. But he will no longer find the Bell Tavern 
there. That has disappeared, although its traditions are still 
most scrupulously preserved. Let us recount one of them. 

The Bell was for some time the residence of Elizabeth 
Whitman, whose singular story, under the fictitious name of 
Eliza Wliarton, excited, forty odd years ago, the sensibilities of 
thousands. In this house she died ; and such was the desire of 
many to obtain some memento of her, that even the stones 
erected over her grave were near being carried away piecemeal. 
When I last visited the spot where she lies, the path leading 
to it was, to judge from appearances, the one in the old ground 
oftenest traversed. This is not strange, for even in winter, after 
a heavy fall of snow, the path has been kept open by the feet of 
the morbidly curious. I expected to read upon the headstone 



198 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

the words, " Good people, pray for her, she died for love." But, 
as I have said, the stone had been carried off nearly entire. The 
following letter, found after her death among her effects, is, 
however, at once the history and the epitaph of this most bril- 
liant and gifted, yet most unfortunate, of beings. After reading 
it, let him who is without sin cast the first stone upon her 
memory : — 

" Must I die alone 1 Shall I never see you more ? I know that 
you will come, but you will come too late. This is, I fear, my last 
ability. Tears fall so, I know not how to write. Why did you leave 
me in so much distress 1 But I will not reproach you. All that was 
dear I left for you ; but I do not regret it. May God forgive in both 
what was amiss. When I go from hence, I will leave you some way 
to find me ; if I die, will you come and drop a tear over my grave 2 " 

In the month of June, 1788, a chaise in which Avere two 
persons, a man and a woman, stopped at the door of the Bell 
Tavern. The woman alighted and entered the house. Her 
companion immediately drove off, and was never again seen in 
the village. It may be easily guessed that the very last place 
for seclusion or mystery was a Kew England village of a hun- 
dred years ago, since the entire population regarded even the 
presence among them of an rniknown person Avith suspicion; 
while any attempt at mystification was in effect a spur to the 
curiosity of every idle gossip, far and near. In self-protection 
the laws of hospitality as to the stranger Avere reversed. To this 
spirit of exclusiveness Ave doubtless OAve the national trait of in- 
quisitiveness so often ascribed to ns. Such, hoAvever, was the 
spirit of the laAVS under which these communities had grown up. 
It is true that the stranger Avas not required to shoAV his pass- 
port ; but as he valued his own ease, on no account must he 
betray any reticence concerning himself or his affairs. At the 
entrance of each village, as one might say, an invisible but 
watchful sentinel cried out : " "Who comes there 1 " Should the 
stranger happen to have his secret to guard, so much the Avorse 
for him. 



THE BELL TAVERN MYSTERY. 



199 



The unknown guest of the Bell — about whom everything — 
her beauty, grace of manner and address, announced her to 
be a person accustomed to the society of people above the 
ordinary condition of life — desired most of all to be unno- 
ticed and unmolested. She desired this for peculiar reasons. 
Each day her life steadily darkened ; every hour was bring- 
ing her nearer and nearer to the crisis of her destiny ; every 
moment was an hour of terror and remorse. It was necessary, 
however, to give some account of herself, or else suspicion and 
calumny would soon be busy with her reputation. She there- 




THE BELL, FROM AN OLD PRINT. 



fore represented that she was married, and that her husband 
would soon join her. To help her story — for she, poor soul, 
fancied that the thin stratagem would make all seem right — she 
laid a letter, written and addressed by herself, upon her table, 
where her inquisitive neighbors would be certain to see and 
to read the superscription. Her days were passed at the window 
watching for some one who did not come. One easily imagines 
wlmt her nights must have been. Once a man who went 
through the village was observed to stop before the tavern and 
attentively read the name that the " beautiful strange lady " had 



200 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

written on her door as ii means of recognition. But when lie 
passed on without entering the house, slie was heard to exclaim, 
" Oh, I am undone !" 

It will bo supposed that the mysterious recluse of the Bell 
Tavern soon became the object of intense curiosity to the people 
of the village. They saw her sitting at her window, sometimes 
whiling aAvay the heavy hours with her guitar, or else busily 
plying her needle " in a mournful muse." When she went out, 
old and young, attracted by her graceful form and presence, 
turned to look after her as she walked. But as the months 
wore on, the secret motive for. her seclusion could no longer be 
concealed. Yet the one whose coming was the single hope left 
to her despairing soul abandoned her to bear all the odium of 
her situation alone. In this hour of bitterest trial — of two- 
fold desertion and danger — she found, however, one sympa- 
thizing and womanly heart courageous enough to take the 
friendless, forlorn Elizabeth into her own home and to nurse 
her tenderly. There this wretched mother gave birth to a dead 
infant, and there, after a short illness, she died. The letter with 
which this sad story is prefaced was doubtless penned upon her 
death-bed ; yet in this hour of agony she, with rare fidelity, pre- 
served the incognito of her heartless lover to the last ; find what 
is rarer still, granted him, from her soul, a full and free pardon 
for the sacrifice of her honor and life. But this pardon should 
have been his perpetual remorse. These are the closing lines of 
some verses the poor girl destined for his eye. It will be seen 
that her last words were those of forgiveness and undying love : — 

O tliou ! for whose dear sake I bear 
A doom so dreadful, so severe. 
May happy fates thy footsteps guide. 
And o'er thy peaceful home preside. 

Nor let E a's early tomb 

Infect thee with its baleful gloom." 

An unknown hand erected a stone over her grave with this 
inscription : — 



THE BELL TAVERN MYSTEEY. 



201 



" This humble stone, in memory of Elizabeth Whitman, is inscribed 
by her weeping friends, to whom she endeared herself by uncommon 
tenderness and affection. Endowed with superior genius and acquire- 
ments, she was still more endeared by humility and benevolence. 
Let candor throw a veil over her frailties, for great was her charity 
to others. She sustained the last painful scene far from every friend, 
and exhibited an example of calm resignation. Her departure was 
on the 25th of July, a. d. 1788, in the 37th year of her age, and the 
tears of strangers watered her grave." 

One would only wish to add to this : She " loved, not wisely, 
hut too well." 




MAEBLEHEAD LEGENDS. 




endicott's sun-diax; designs fkom. old monei. 



MARBLEHEAD: THE TOWN. 



nVT'EXT to Swainpscott comes Marblehead, Quaintest and 
-i-N most dilapidated of seaports, one can hardly knock at 
any door without encountering a legend or a history. Indeed 
that idea conies uppermost on looking around you. Yet the 
atmosphere is not oppressive, nor are the suggestions ghostly. 
Far otherwise ; you are simply on the tiptoe of expectation. 

Thanks to fortuitous causes, Marblehead retains more of the 
characteristic flavor of the past than any town in New England. 
And here one can revel in its memories unchecked, seeing so 
little to remind him of the present. Look at the great body of 
old houses still composing it ! There is no mistaking the era to 
which they belong. Once among them, one takes a long stride 
backward into another century, and is even doubtful if he should 
stop there. They are as antiquated as the garments our great- 
grandfathers wore, and as little in accord with modern ideas ; and 
yet they were very comfortable dwellings in their day, and have 
even now a home-like look of solid, though unpretending, thrift. 
They in fact indicate a repubhc of equality, if not one of high 
social or intellectual refinement. We expect to see sailors in 
pigtails, citizens in periwigs, and women in kerchiefs and hobnail 
shoes, all speaking an unintelligible jargon, and all laying violent 



206 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

tongues on the King's English. We are conscious of a certain in- 
congruity between ourselves and this democracy, which is not at 
all disagreeable to us, nor disparaging to that. 

They have covered a bare and uncouth cluster of gray ledges 
Avith houses, and called it Marblehead. These ledges stick out 
everywhere ; there is not enough soil to cover them decently. 
The original gullies intersecting these ledges were turned into 
thoroughfares, which meander about after a most lawless and 
inscrutable fasliion. The principal graveyard is situated on the 
top of a rocky hill, where the dead mariners might lie within 
sound of the sea they ioved so well. And we learn that it was 
chosen because it was a " sightly place." But in general the 
dead fare no better than the living, they being tucked away in 
odd comers, here on a hill-top, there in a hollow, the headstones 
seeming always a part of the ledges above which they rise in 
straggling groups, stark, gray, and bent with age, intensifying 
a thousand-fold the pervading feeling of sadness and loneliness 
associated with such places. 

One street carries us along with the present ; the other whisks 
us back into the past again. We dive into a lane, and bring up 
in a blind alley without egress. Does any one know the way 
here, we question 1 We see a crooked crack separating rows of 
houses, and then read on a signboard that it is such or such a 
street. In an hour we look upon the whole topography of the 
place as a jest. 

Now and then the mansion of some Colonial nabob — perhaps 
a colonel or a magistrate — has secured for itself a little breath- 
ing space ; but in general the houses crowd upon and elbow each 
other in " most admired disorder.'" The wonder is that they 
built here at all, the site was so unpromising; but the harbor was 
good, there was room to dry fish, and the sailor-settlers looked 
upon the sea, and not the shore, as being their home. So that 
Allerton's rough fellows, who in 1633 made their rude cabins on 
the harbor's edge, were not looking for farms, but for codfish- 
After looking over the town a while, one comes to the conclu- 
sion that the first-comers must have tossed up coppers — always 



makblehead: the town. 207 

a favorite pastime here — for the choice of building-lots, and 
then have made their selection regardless of surveyor's lines. 
As a consequence, Marblehead is picturesque, but bewildering. 
It has a placid little harbor, indented by miniature coves, lighted 
by a diminutive lighthouse, and defended by a dismantled fort- 
ress without a garrison. Blindfold a stranger, bring him to 
Marblehead, and then remove the bandage, and he would cer- 
tainly exclaim, " This is in the Orkneys, or the Hebrides ! " 

This is what a glance reveals. We have said that nearly 
every dwelling has its story. It is probable that no other 
spot of ground in the Colonies was so peculiarly adapted to 
the growth of the marvellous as this. The men, and the boys 
too, as soon as they were able to handle an oar, followed the sea, 
while the women did most of the shore work, taking care of 
and curing the fish, as they do to-day in Newfoundland. So 
that in the fishing season the place was nearly as destitute of 
men as the fabulous island that good old Peter Martyr tells about 
in his wonderful " Decades." That good and true man, the Rev- 
erend John Barnard, the patriarch and good genius of the place, 
tells us that when he first went to Marblehead there was no such 
thing as a proper carpenter, or mason, or tailor, or butcher in 
the place ; all were fishermen. And this was seventy or eighty 
years after settlement began here. For half a century there 
was no settled minister ; and for about the same terra of years 
no schoolmaster. To this day no one knows the antecedents 
of these fishermen, or from whence they came. Certain it is 
that they were no part of the Puritan emigration around them; 
for all accounts agree in styling them a rude, ignorant, lawless, 
and profligate set, squandering with habitual recklessness the 
gains of each hazardous voyage. Notorious pirates openly walked 
the streets ; smuggling was carried on like any legitimate occupa- 
tion. In a word, a community going back to as early a day 
as any here had grown up in the same way that the fishing- 
stations of Newfoundland were gradually turned into permanent 
settlements, having almost no law and even less religion, until a 
missionary appeared in the person of the Reverend John Barnard. 



208 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

The history then changes. In respect to public and private 
morals, Marblehead was really a little Newfoundlantl , and it is 
more than probable, everything being considered, that its settle- 
ment may be legitimately referred to this island, — the home of 
a strictly seafaring and sea-subsisting people, living half of the 
time afloat, and half on -shore. 

As for the women, when we read that on a certain Sabbath-day 
two hostile Indians, then held as prisoners in the town, were 
" by the women of Marblehead, as they came out of the meeting- 
house," tumultuously set upon and very barbarously murdered, 
one easily imagines what the men were like, — and the children 
too, of whom it is soberly said that they were as profane as their 
fathers. When a stranger appeared in the streets they were in 
the habit of pelting him with stones. All this prepares us 
for the appearance of John and Mary Dimond as the legitimate 
outgrowth of such a place, and for those singular customs, and 
the still more singular speech, which two centuries could not 
wholly eradicate. Marblehead, it is quite clear, was neither 
part nor parcel of the Puritan Commonwealth in any strict 
sense of the term. It was and is unique. 

Apropos of this state of society, although they may put the 
reader's credulity to a harder test than is usual, let us give one 
or two examples of olden superstition, in order to place him 
more or less in accord with the spirit of the times to which our 
poets and our novelists have given so much attention. It will 
readily be seen that there is little need to have recourse to the 
imagination ; truth is indeed stranger than fiction. 

The belief that it is a good omen to see the new moon over 
one's right shoulder is still universal. Yet this is merely a relic 
of ancient superstition, altliough few, perhaps, would be willing 
to admit that it had any influence, either direct or indirect, upon 
their future welfare. But our forefathers thought otherwise. 
Among the early chronicles of Lynn is one giving an account of 
" an honest old man " who, "as it began to be darkish," went 
out to look for the new moon, when he espied in the west 
a strange black cloud, in which presently appeared a complete 



MAKBLEHEAD: THE TOWN. 209 

man-at-arms, standing with his legs a little apart, and holding 
his pike thrown across his breast in a most martial attitude. 
The man then called his wife and others to behold this marvel. 
After a while the man in the cloud vanished ; but he was imme- 
diately succeeded by the apparition of a stately ship under full 
sail, although she remained stationary in the heavens. The 
black hull, the lofty stern, the brightly gleaming sails, the taper- 
ing mast, from which a long resplendent pennon streamed, were 
as plainly distinguished as were those of the ships then riding in 
the harbor. "This," in the words of the narrative, "was seen 
for a great space, both by these and others of ye same town." 

The good old English custom of saluting the new moon with 
the following propitiatory address, to which the " pale goddess " 
was supposed to give ear, — 

All hail to the Moon ! all hail to thee ! 
I prythee, good Moon, reveal to me 
This night who my husband must be, — 

had its counterpart in Marblehead, where, on the nights when a 
new moon was to appear, the unmarried young women Avould 
congregate at some houses in the neighborhood for the purpose 
of having a peep into futurity ; and after hanging a huge pot of 
tallow on tlie crane over the blazing logs, would then drop, one 
by one, iron hob-nails into the boiling M, in the firm belief that 
the young man who should come in wliile this charm was work- 
ing would inevitably be the future husband of the fair one who 
dropped tlie nails. 

At other times the young woman Avho had a longing to pry into 
the unknown would go to an upper window of the house, and 
when no one saw her would throw a ball of yarn into the street, 
in the belief that the lucky youth who first picked it up was tlie 
man she would marry. All the terrors of the laws against it could 
not prevent women from trying the efficacy of magical art in elu- 
cidating the, to them, most interesting of all questions. In those 
" good old times " a wedding was a season of unrestrained merry- 
making for a whole week together. Little ceremony was used. 

14 



210 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Everybody who cliose might attend, and when, at a late hour, tlie 
guests were ready to depart, the bride and groom being first put 
to bed, the entire company, regardless of the blushes or screams of 
the bride, marched round the nuptial couch, throwing old shoes, 
stockings, and other missiles of established potency in such cases, 
at the newly wedded couple, by way of bringing them good luck. 

" Stories of phantom ships seen at sea before the loss of a ves- 
sel, of the appearance on the water of loved ones who had died 
at home, of footsteps and voices heard mysteriously in the still 
hours of the night and coming as warnings from another world, 
of signs and omens which foretold the approaching death of 
some member of the family, or prophecies whispered by the 
winds, that those who were away on the mighty deep would find 
a watery grave," were interwoven with, and allowed to have an 
active influence upon, the lives of these people. 

Such a place would as a matter of course have its jjart in the 
"Terror" of 1G92, — the fatal witchcraft delusion. The witch 
of Marblehead was an old crone by the name of Wilmot lledd 
(or Keed), but more generally known and feared as " Mammy 
Eedd, the witch." This woman was believed to possess the 
power of malignant touch and sight, and she was able, so it was 
whispered, to cast a spell over those whom she might in her ma- 
levolence wish to injure. To some she sent sickness and death, 
by merely Avishing that a " bloody cleaver" might be found in 
the cradle of their infant children. Upon others she vented her 
spite by visiting them with such petty annoyances as occur — 

When brass and pewter hap to stray. 
And linen slinks out of the way ; 
When geese and pullen are seduced, 
And sows of sucking pigs are choused ; 
When cattle feel indisposition. 
And need the opinion of physician ; 
When murrain reigns in hogs or sheep, 
And chickens languish of the pip ; 
When yeast and outward means do fail. 
And have no power to work on ale ; 
When butter does refuse to ennie, 
And love proves cross and huniorsonie. 



THE SHRIEKING WOMAN. 211 

Among other diabolical arts, — 

Old Mammy Redd, 
Of Marblehead, 
Sweet milk could turn 
To mould in churn. 

She could curdle it as it came fresh from the cow's udders, 
or could presently change it into "blue wool," which we take to 
be another name for blue mould. She was tried and convicted, 
chiefly on old wives' gabble, and expiated on the galloAvs the 
evil fome that she had acquired. 

To this fact of history, in which the actors appear testifying 
under oath to their own superstitious beliefs, we may now 
add one of those local legends undoubtedly growing out of the 
frequent intercourse had with the free rovers of the main. 
Among these freebooters it was a law, the cruel policy of which 
is obvious, that every woman who might become their prisoner 
should sutler death. The legend is perhaps no more than the 
echo of one of these tragedies. 



THE SHEIEKING WOMAN. 

IT was said that during the latter part of the seventeenth 
century, a Spanish ship laden with rich merchandise was 
captured by pirates, who brought their prize into the Harbor of 
Marblehead. The crew and every person on board the ill-fated 
ship had been butchered in cold blood at the time of the cap- 
ture, except a beautiful English lady, whom the ruffians brought 
on shore near what is now called Oakum Bay, and there, under 
cover of the night, most barbarously murdered her. The few 
fishermen who inhabited the place were then absent, and the 
women and children who remained, could do nothing to prevent 
the consummation of the fearful crime. The piercing screams 



212 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

of the victim were most appalling, and lier cries of " Lord, save 
me ! Mercy ! Lord Jesus, save me ! " were distinctly heard 
in the silence of the night. The body was buried on the spot 
where the deed was perpetrated, and for over one hundred and 
fifty years, on each anniversary of that dreadful tragedy, the 
heartrending screams of the murdered woman for mercy were 
repeated in a voice so shrill and unearthly as to freeze the blood 
of those who heard them. 

This legend is so firmly rooted in Marblehead, that Poly- 
phemus himself could not tear it from the soil. Even the most 
intelligent people have admitted their full belief in it ; and one 
of the most learned jurists of his time, who was native here, 
and to the manner born, averred that he had heard those ill- 
omened shrieks again and again in the still hours of the night. 

To this local episode the following narrative of piracy in its 
palmiest days seems the appropriate pendant. 



THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP 
ASHTON. 

PHILIP ASHTOX was a young Marblehead fisherman, who, 
with other townsmen of his, was, in the month of Juno, 

1722, quietly pursuing his legitimate calling upon the fishing- 
grounds lying ofi" Cape Sable. It 
being Friday, he and his mates 
hoisted sail and stood in for Port 
Roseway, meaning to harbor tliere 
until the Sabbath was over. When 
their shallop arrived, late in tlie 
afternoon, in this harbor, tlie fish- 
ermen saw lying peaceably among 
the fleet of fishing craft a strange 
brigantine, which they supposed 

to be an inward -bound West Indiaman. 




STRANGE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ASHTON. 213 

But after the shallop had been at anchor two or three hours, 
a boat from the brigantine came alongside of her, and her men, 
jumping upon deck, drew from underneath their clothing the 
cutlasses and pistols with which they were armed, and with 
oaths and menaces demanded of the startled fishermen the in- 
iitant surrender of themselves and their vessel. Having sus- 
pected no danger, and being thus taken unawares, these poor 
fishermen were unable to make the least resistance, and they 
could only yield themselves up in surprise and terror to their 
assailants. In this manner the brigantine's crew surprised 
twelve or thirteen more peaceable fishing-vessels that evening. 
The prisoners vainly asked themselves what it could all mean. 

When Ashton and his comrades were taken on board the 
brigantine, their worst fears were more than realized upon find- 
ing themselves in the power of the red-handed pirate, Ned Low, 
whose name alone was a terror to all who followed the sea in 
honest ways, and whose ambition it was to outdo the worst 
cruelties of his infamous predecessors in crime. 

Low presently sent for Ashton to come aft, where the young 
lad found himself face to face with the redoubtable rover, who, 
according to the pirates' custom, and in their proper dialect, 
asked him if he would sign their articles and go along with 
them as one of the band. To this Ashton returned a firm re- 
fusal ; he was then without ceremony thrust down into the 
ship's hold. 

On the ensuing Sabbath Ashton with others was again brought 
before the pirate chief, who this time, in a tone that struck far 
more terror than the pistol he held cocked in his hand, ex- 
claimed, "Are any of you married men?" Not knowing to 
what this unexpected question might lead, or what trap might 
be set for them, the poor fellows were dumb, and they answered 
not a word ; which so incensed the pirate, that he put his pistol 
to Ashton's head, crying out, "You dog, why don't you answer 
me 1 " at the same time swearing vehemently that if he did not 
instantly tell whether he was or was not married, he would 
shoot him where he stood. To save his life, Ashton, in as loud 



214 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

a voice as lie dared to speak it, answered that he was single ; 
and so said the rest of his companions. 

To their unspeakable dismay they learned that this answer 
doomed them to the fate from whicli they were so anxious to 
escape, it being one of Low's wjiims not to force any married 
man into his service. While the greater number of the captive 
fishermen were therefore released, Ashton was among those who 
were detained close prisoners on board the pirate ship. 

His steady refusal to join them subjected young Ashton to 
the most brutal treatment at the hands of Low's miscreants, 
whose continued carousals, mingled witli tlie most hideous blas- 
phemy, converted ihe pirate ship into a veritable hell afloat. 

Low first bent his destructive course towards Newfoundland. 
But here his first venture nearly proved to be his last ; for hav- 
ing descried a large Uhip lying in the Harbor of St. John's, he 
resolved to go in and take her, and so to furnish himself with a 
larger and a better ship than the one he now commanded. With 
this intention, after concealing the greater part of his crew be- 
low, the pirate stood boldly in towards his expected prey, mean- 
ing to run close alongside, and then to carry her by boarding, 
before his purpose should be suspected. But here his patron 
fiend served him a good turn at need. For as the buccaneer 
stealthily drew into the harbor, he met a fishing-boat coming 
out, and having hailed her, learned to his dismay that the ship 
he was going to take with his two or three score of cut-throats, 
was a large man-of-war, capable of blowing him out of the water 
with a single broadside. 

Instead, therefore, of going into the harbor, Low made all the 
haste he could to put a safe distance between him and tlie 
cruiser, lest he should catch a Tartar where he had looked for an 
easy conquest. He now stretched away farther to the eastward, 
and entering Conception Bay, put into a small port called Car- 
bonear, where he landed his men, who first sacked and then 
burned the place to the ground. He next made for the Grand 
Banks, where, after capturing and i)lundering seven or eight 
vessels, he sailed away for St. Michael's in the Azores, taking 



STKANGE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ASHTON. 215 

•with him one of his prizes. When oil this port Low fell in 
with and made prize of a large Portuguese pink loaded with 
wheat ; and finding her to be a good sailer, she was manned and 
turned into a piratical craft, flying the skeleton flag that Low 
carried at his masthead. 

To the Canaries, to the Cape de Verde Islands, to Bonavista, 
the freebooter sailed on, leaving the wreck of burned and plun- 
dered ships in his track. Then he ran down the coast of Brazil, 
hoping to meet with richer prizes than any he had yet taken ; 
but from these shores he was driven by the fury of a gale tliat 
nearly proved fatal to him and his fortunes. Escaping this, the 
pirate suddenly appeared in the West Indies ■ and after burning, 
plundering, and sinking to his heart's content, he scoured the 
Spanish Main for a while with variable success. 

At length, after many perils encountered and escaped, Low's 
two vessels entered Roatan Harbor, in the Bay of Honduras, in 
order to heave down and clean their bottoms, and to get a sup- 
ply of water. Here at last came the chance which Ashton had 
so ardently longed for. 

Up to this time the pirates had never allowed him to land 
with them. More than one well-laid plan to escape out of their 
clutches had already been thwarted in a way to crush out all 
hope for the future. But he resolutely determined to make one 
more eflbrt to gain his freedom ; for besides being a lad of sense 
and spirit, Ashton was young and vigorous, and ready to con- 
front any danger, however great, that should lie in the way to 
his deliverance from the pirate crew. 

One morning, as Low's long-boat was passing by Ashton's 
vessel, on her way to the watering-place, the lad hailed laer, and 
entreated to be allowed to go on shore with the men wlio were 
taking the water-casks to be filled. After some hesitation, the 
cooper, who had charge of the boat, took him in, little imagining 
that there was any danger of his running away in so desolate and 
forbidding a place as this was. Ashton jumped into the boat. 

When they landed, Ashton was at first very active in helping 
to get the casks out of the boat. But by and by he gradually 



216 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

strolled along the beach, picking up stones and shells, and look- 
ing sharply about him in search of a place suitable for ]iis 
purpose. 

He had got a gunshot ofi', and had begun to edge up towards 
the woods, when the cooper, espying him, called out to know 
where he was going. The resolute lad shouted back the reply 
tliat he was seeking for cocoa-nuts ; and pointing to a grove of 
stately cocoa-palms growing just in front of him, moved on into 
the friendly shelter of the tropical forest. As soon as he had 
lost sight of his companions, he bounded away like a wounded 
deer into the thick undergrowth, and he ran on until, judging 
himself to have gained a safe distance, he threw himself on tlie 
ground in the midst of a dense thicket, and awaited in breatli- 
less suspense the issue of his bold dash for liberty. 

After the men had filled their casks, and were ready to go on 
board, the cooper called to Ashton to come in ; bvit this being the 
last thing this brave lad thought of doing, he made no answer, 
although he plainly heard the men's voices in his snug retreat. 
At last they began hallooing to him ; but he Avas still silent. 
He could hear them say, " The dog is lost in the woods, and 
can't find the way out." Then, after shouting again to as little 
purpose as before, to Ashton's great joy they put off for their 
vessel, leaving him alone on this uninhabited island, with no 
other company than his own thoughts, no clothing but a canvas 
cap to cover his head, a loose tunic, and trousers to protect liis 
body, and nothing else besides his two hands to defend himself 
from the wild beasts of prey that prowled unmolested about the 
hideous thickets around him. He had jumped into the boat 
just as he stood, having no time to snatch up even so indis- 
pensable a thing as a knife, or a Hint and steel to kindle a 
fire with. Yet he considered this condition preferable to the 
company he had left. 

Ashton passed the next five days in watching the pirate 
vessels, fearing that Low might send a party in pursuit of him ; 
but at the end of that time he saw them hoist sail and put to 
sea. Not until then did he breathe freely. 



STRANCxE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP ASHTON. 



217 



In order to find out in what manner he was to live for the 
future, Ashton began to range the island over. He saw no evi- 
dence of any human habitation, except one walk of lime-trees 
nearly a mile long, with here and there some fragments of pot- 
tery strewed about the place, by which signs he guessed that he 
had lighted upon some long-deserted residence of the Indians. 
The island was mountainous, and the mountains were thickly cov- 
ered with a scrubby black pine, making 
them almost inaccessible. The valleys h /^ 

abounded with fruit-trees ; but so dense """mI \\\t7^ 

Avas the tropical undergrowth here, that 
it was with great difficulty that Ashton 
could force his way through it, he hav- 




ALONE ON THE DESERT ISLAND. 



ing neither shoes nor stockings to protect his feet from the 
sharp thorns that pierced the flesh. There were plenty of cocoa- 
nuts to be had for the trouble of picking them up; but as Asliton 
had no way of breaking the thick husks, this delicious fruit was 
of no advantage to him. There were also many other sorts of 



218 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

fruits hanging most temptingly within reach of the half-starved 
Ashton's hand ; but not knowing what they were, he dared not 
touch any of them until he saw the Avild hogs freely feeding 
upon them. And some of them which were really poisonous he 
often handled, hut luckily refrained from eating. He therefore 
lived for some time upon the grapes, figs, and wild beach-plums 
that grew abundantly everywhere about him, making such a 
shelter as he could from the copious night-dews that fell, by 
leaning some fallen branches against a tree-trunk, and then 
covering this rude framework with a thatch of palmetto-leaves. 
In time he built many of these huts in different parts of his 
island. 

There were also upon this island, and upon the islands adjacent 
to it, wild deer and hogs. The woods and waters abounded too 
with duck, teal, curlew, pelicans, boobies, pigeons, parrots, and 
other birds fit to be eaten. The seas teemed with fish and the 
shores with tortoises. But notwithstanding his mouth often 
watered for a bit of them, Ashton was able to make no use 
whatever of all this store of beast, fish, and fowl, for want of a 
knife and a fire. So in the midst of plenty he was reduced 
even lower than the savage, — who can at least always make 
for himself weapons to kill and fire to dress his food. 

For nine solitary months Philip Ashton lived alone on this 
island without seeing one human being. The parrots had not 
learned to talk, so that, compelled as he was to keep silence, he 
sometimes feared that he might lose the power of speech, or 
forget the sound of his own voice. To escape from the mosqui- 
toes, black-flies, and other insect pests which made his life in- 
tolerable to him, Ashton formed the habit of swimming over a 
narrow channel that separated his island from one of the low- 
lying keys, where he mostly spent his days. In one of these 
journeys he narrowly escaped being devoured by a shark, which 
struck him just as he reached the shallow water of the shore. 
This key also gave him a broader and a clearer sea-view ; for it 
may well be imagined that never during his waking hours did he 
intermit his weary watch for a friendly sail. Sometimes he sat 



STKANGE ADVENTURES OF PHILIl' ASHTON. 219 

with Lis back against a tree, and liis face to the sea, for a whole 
day, without stirring from the spot. 

Weakened by exposure and the want of proper food, unable 
longer to drag his torn and wounded limbs about the island, 
Ashton at last sickened ; and as his helplessness increased, the 
prospect of a horrible death stared him in the face. As the 
days and nights wore away, he fell into a deadly stupor. In this 
extremity he one day espied a canoe, with one man in it, com- 
ing towards him. When he was near enough, Ashton feebly 
called out to him. After some hesitation the man landed. He 
proved to be an Englishman who, to save his life, had lied from 
the Spanish settlements. For three days Ashton had the un- 
speakable pleasure of a companion in his misery ; but at the end 
of this brief time his solitary visitor, having left him to go upon 
a hunting excursion among the islands, was drowned in a squall, 
leaving the hermit again alone in his wretchedness and anguish 
of body and mind. His condition was, however, somewhat im- 
proved ; for thanks to his late companion he now had a knife, 
a little pork, some gunpowder, and a flint, and so the means of 
making a fire, which was to him the greatest of luxuries. 

Between two and three months after he had lost his com- 
panion, Ashton, in one of his rambles, found a small canoe 
stranded upon the shore. This enabled him to extend his ex- 
cursions among the islands, and in this way gave promise of an 
escape to some of the distant settlements. 

How he made a voyage to the Island of Bonacco, and while 
asleep was discovered and fired upon by a party of Spaniards ; 
how he made his escape from them, finally reaching his old 
quarters at Roatan, — are events that we have no time to dwell 
upon. That he had found civilized beings more cruel than the 
wild beasts — for these had not harmed him — was a lesson 
that made him more wary about extending his explorations too 
far in the future. 

Some time after this adventure Ashton again saw canoes 
approaching his place of refuge. The smoke of his fire had 
drawn them in towards the shore. Ashton then showed himself 



220 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

on the beach. The canoes carae to a standstill. Then the 
parties hailed each other, and after mutual explanations, one 
man ventured to come to the shore. When he saw the forlorn 
and miserable object of his fear, he stood in speechless amaze- 
ment ; but at length the two men fell to embracing each other, 
and then the stranger, taking the emaciated body of Asliton in 
his arms, carried him to the canoes, where the others received 
him kindly and made him welcome among them. 

Ashton told them his story. The strangers then informed 
him that they were from the Bay of Honduras, whence, how- 
ever, they had been forced to fly, in order to escape from the 
fury of the Spaniards. With them Asliton lived in comparative 
ease, until his old enemies, the pirates, discovered and made a 
descent upon them in their chosen retreat. Ashton's dread of 
again falling into their hands may be easily conceived. He with 
two or three others succeeded, however, in making good their 
escape into the woods. The rest were captured and taken on 
board the same vessel in which Ashton had served his appren- 
ticeship as a pirate. 

Two or three months more passed. Ashton with his com- 
panions had got over to the Island of Bonacco again. A gale 
such as is only known in the tropic seas arose, and blew with 
great violence for three days. To Ashton this proved indeed a 
friendly gale, for when it had subsided he descried several ves- 
sels standing in for the island. Presently one of them anchored 
near the shore, and sent in her boat for water. This vessel 
proved to be a brigantine belonging to Salem, and in her Ashton 
took passage for home, where he safely arrived on the 1st of 
May, 1725, it then being two years and two months since he 
had escaped from the pirate ship. 



AGNES, THE MAIU OF THE INN. 221 



AGNES, THE MAID OF THE INN. 



THIS pretty story, a romance of real life, makes us ac- 
quainted with two noble, but impulsive natures, whose 
destinies first became interwoven in a way quite the reverse of 
the romantic. After perusing it, as one is pretty sure to do, from 
beginning to end, one is very apt to think that this poor Marble- 
head maiden, this outcast, if you will, whose great love, finally 
triumphing over pride, prejudice, suftering, cruel scorn, and every 
other moral impediment that the world puts in the way of duty, 
really confers honor upon the noble knight who at last gives her 
his name, by awakening in him truly ennobling and elevating 
sentiments. In such a life as that of Agnes one cannot help 
seeing a design. Without her Sir Henry Avas a mere votary of 
pleasure, a man of the world. She really made a man of him 
at last. But to our tale. 

In the summer of 1742 the course of olficial duty called the 
Collector of Boston to Marblehead. The incumbent of this 
office, which had been established with much opposition in the 
Colonial capital, and Avas little respected outside of it, was then 
Henry Frankland, of Mattersea, in Js'ottinghamshire, who was 
also connected with one of the greatest families in the North, 
and who was the heir presumptive to a baronetcy. This young 
man, who at the early age of twenty-six had come into the pos- 
session both of a fortune and of a highly lucrative and honorable 
appointment, was now in the pursuit of a career. With rank, 
wealth, and high social position as his birthright, with rare per- 
sonal attractions, and with the endowments which all these had 
brought to his aid, Henry Frankland's future bid fair to become 
unusually dazzling and brilliant. 



222 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



Marblehead being at this period of her history the smuggling 
port for Boston, it is quite probable that the Collector's visit, 
though referred to other causes, looked to the repression of this 
contraband trade, by which the King's 
revenues were every day defrauded, 
and the laws of the realm more or less 
openly violated. 

Henry Frankland, having alighted 
at the Fountain Inn, found an unex- 
pected obstacle in his path. 

This was a young and remarkably 
beautiful girl, who was busily engaged 
in scrubbing the floor when he en- 
tered, and who, we are willing to 
affirm, found the time to dart an in- 
vestigating and appreciative glance 
at the handsome 




LOVE AT FIKST SIGHT. 

young guest, to whom her own 
mean garb and menial occupation 
offered the strongest possible con- 
trast. Struck with the rare beauty of her face and person, the 
young man stopped to look and to admire. His was the pride 
of birth and station ; hers the submissive deference that the poor 



AGNES, THE MAID OF THE INN. 223 

and lowly paid to its arrogant demands. He was booted and 
spurred, and wore his laced beaver ; she bareheaded and bare- 
footed, and upon her knees. He had the unmistakable air of 
distinction and breeding of his class ; she was scrubbing the 
floor. 

The young man called her to liim, put some questions negli- 
gently, and then, pleased with her answers, dropped a piece of 
silver into her hand and passed on. He had seen a pretty serv- 
ing-maid who told him that she was called Agnes — Agnes 
Surriage. 

Later on, a second visit to the inn showed him the same 
charming picture, even to the minutest details. Agnes was still 
doing the drudgery of the inn without shoes or stockings to 
cover her little feet. 

When the baronet asked why she had not bought them Avith 
the money he had given her, she naively answered that she had 
indeed done so, but that she kept them to wear in meeting. Per- 
haps this elegant young man had unwittingly awakened in her 
breast, like Eve in Adam, the knowledge that was to give a new 
direction to her life, — the painful discovery of a deficiency of 
which she had before been calmly unconscious. Perhaps some- 
thing gave her the courage to measure the distance between 
tbem. We do not know. Had Agnes been plain as well as 
, poor, he might have passed her by without noticing that her 
feet were bare or her dress scanty. Her beauty exacted this 
homage, which he would have called his condescension. 

Just what was Sir Henry's first design, or what the workings 
of his mind, do not at this moment clearly appear ; perhaps, pro- 
ceeding from impulse, they were only half formed at best ; but 
be that as it may, his growing interest in Agnes presently led 
him to seek an interview with her parents, who were poor and 
worthy people, living in the town, and to propose removing 
their daughter to his own home, in order — Jesuit that he was ! 
— to give her the advantages to which her graces of mind and 
person, as he warmly protested, fully entitled her. The parents 
acceded only too readily to the seductive proposal. They could 



224 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

see no danger ; not tliey ! Agnes left her own humble home 
for that of Sir Henry ; and so this girl of sixteen became the 
ward of this grave young gentlemen of twenty-six. But, igno- 
rant as she was, and humble and artless, it is easy to believe 
that she had already taught him something he was in no haste 
to unlearn. 

Agnes did ample justice to her guardian's high opinion of her 
mental (jualihcations. The virgin soil is deep and })roductive. 
Slie was taught the commoner branches, as well as the accom- 
plisliments then deemed indisi^ensably requisite to the education 
of a gentlewoman moving in her adopted sphere. As her mind 
expanded, so, like the rose, did her beauty become more and more 
radiant Avith the consciousness of the new life opening to her. 
She was a being created to love and be loved. Her gratitude, 
her confidence, her admiration were all centred uj^on one ob- 
ject. One day she awoke to the knowledge that she was be- 
loved, and that she loved. 

By the death of his uncle, the baronetcy that was heredi- 
tary in the Yorkshire branch of the Franklands devolved upon 
Agnes' guardian, who, having now legitimately inherited it, 
publicly assumed the title. 

The discovery to which we have referred had its usual conse- 
quences. Sir Henry Frankland, Baronet, could not dream of 
laying his noble name at the feet of a serving-maid ; not he. 
His horror of a misaUiance was even greater than his abhorrence 
of a different and a more equivocal connection. But he could 
not give her up. We Avill let the veil fall upon the weakness of 
both of these lovers. He was her idol, she his infatuation ; 
he loved like a man, and she like a woman. 

Sir Henry's conduct in openly living with his lovely ward out- 
side of the pale of matrimony being whispered about, was an 
ofifence too flagrant for the stern morality of the city of the Puri- 
tans to endure ; and its indignation was soon made manifest in a 
way to cut a proud and sensitive nature to the quick. Society he 
found has its weapons, and can use them, too, without mercy. 
Society could not justify his leading the girl astray ; but it would 



AGNES, THE MAID OF THE INN. 225 

have forgiven him now, had he chosen to desert her. Boston was 
no longer a place for Agues or for him ; so that no sooner was 
he established in his Eden, than an inexorable voice drove him 
forth. He purchased an estate and built an elegant mansion in 
the pleasant and secluded inland village of Hopkinton, to which 
he conveyed Agnes, and with her took up his residence there. 
While they lived here, the hospitality and luxury of the great 
house, and the beauty of Sir Henry's mysterious companion, 
were the prolific theme in all the country round. Sir Henry 
loved the good old English fashion, devoting himself more or 
less to the care and embellishment of his estate with the Eng- 
lish gentleman's hereditary taste and method. His devotion to 
Agnes appears to have suffered no diminution ; and when at 
length he Avas compelled at the call of urgent affairs to visit 
England, she accompanied him. It is said that he even had 
the hardihood to introduce her among his aristocratic relatives 
as Lady Frankland ; and if he did so. Sir Henry must have 
grown bold indeed. But that ill-advised proceeding met with 
the decisive repulse it certainly deserved. Throughout all this 
singular history shines the one ray of hope for Agnes. Except 
in name, the lovers held true and unswerving faith to and in 
each other as fully and completely as if they had been actual 
man and wife. 

But we must hasten on. Sir Henry's affairs calling him to 
Lisbon, Agnes went with him. While they were sojourning in 
the Portuguese capital, the dreadful earthquake of 1755 laid the 
city in ruins. Lender these ruins sixty thousand of the miser- 
able inhabitants were buried ; the rest fled in terror. The car- 
riage in Avhicli Sir Henry happened to be riding was crushed by 
falling walls, and buried underneath the rubbish. Agnes had re- 
mained behind, and to this accident she owed her escape. Run- 
ning into the street at the first alarm, she indeed avoided the 
horrible death wliich had swalloAved up multitudes around her ; 
but v>'ho can tell the anguish of her soul in that moment 1 She 
was, indeed, saved; but where was her lord and protector 1 
Frantic and despairing, but faithful to death, she followed such 

15 



226 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

faint traces as in the confusion of that hour could be obtained, 
until chance at length led her to the spot where he lay, helpless 
and overwhelmed. A fine lady would have recoiled and fainted 
dead away ; Agnes Surriage, again the working girl of Marble- 
head, instantly set to work to rescue her lover from the ruins 
with her own hands. In an hour he was extricated from the 
rubbish. He was still living. She conveyed him to a place 
that had escaped the shock of the earthquake, where she nursed 
him into health and strength again. Vanquished by this last 
supreme proof of her love for him, the knight gave her his 
hand in return for his life. And who can doubt that with this 
act there came back to both that peace of mind which alone was 
wanting to a perfect union of two noble and loving hearts 1 

We are obliged to content ourselves with the following extracts 
from the poem which Holmes has founded upon the story : — 

A scampering at the Fountain Inn ; 

A rush of great and small ; 
With hurrying servants' mingled din, 

And screauung matron's call ! 

Poor Agnes ! with her work half done, 

They caught her unaware. 
As, humbly, like a praying nun, 

She knelt vipon the stair ; 

Bent o'er the steps, with lowliest mien 

She knelt, but not to pray, — 
Her little hands must keep them clean, 

And wash their stains away. 

A foot, an ankle, bare and white, 

Her girlish shapes betrayed, — 
" Ha ! Nymphs and Graces ! " spoke the Knight ; 

" Look up, my beauteous Maid ! " 

She turned, — a reddening rose in bud, 

Its calyx half withdrawn ; 
Her cheek on fire with damasked blood 

Of girlhood's glowini:^ dawn ! 



SKIPPER IKESON's RIDE. 227 

He searched her features through and through, 

As royal lovers look 
On lowly maidens when they woo 

Without the ring and book. 

" Come hither, Fair one ! Here, my Sweet ! 

Nay, prithee, look not down ! 
Take this to shoe those little feet," — 

He tossed a silver crown. 

A sudden paleness struck her brow, — 

A swifter flush succeeds ; 
It burns her cheek ; it kindles now 

Beneath her golden beads. 

She flitted ; but the glittering eye 

Still sought the lovely face. 
Who was she ? What, and whence 1 and why 

Doomed to such menial place I 

A skipper's daughter, — so they said, — 

Left orphan by the gale 
That cost the fleet of Marblehead 

And Gloucester thirty sail. 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 

ONE of the most spirited of Whittier's home ballads — cer- 
tainly the most famous — is his "Skipper Ireson's Ride," 
which introduces by way of refrain the archaic Marblehead dia- 
lect that is now nearly, if not quite, extinct. Like most of this 
poet's characters. Skipper Ireson is a real personage, whose story, 
briefly told, is this : — 

Late in the autumn of the year 1808 the schooner "Betsy," of 
Marblehead, Benjamin Ireson, master, while buffeting its way 
towards tlie home port in the teeth of a tremendous gale, fell 
iu with a wreck drifting at the mercy of the winds and waves. 



228 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

This was the schooner " Active," of Portkuid, that had been over- 
set in the gale. It was then midnight, with a tremendous sea 
ruiming. The skipper of the sinking vessel hailed the "Betsy" 
and asked to be taken off the wreck, from which every wave 
indeed threatened to wash the distressed and exhausted crew. 
To this it is said that the " Betsy's " crew — one does not like to 
traduce the name by calling them sailors • — strongly demurred, 
alleging the danger of making the attempt in such a sea in sup- 
port of their cowardly purjiose to abandon the sinking craft to 
her fate. Some say that Captain Ireson was himself disposed to 
act with humanity, and to lie by the wreck until daylight, but 
that he was overruled by the unanimous voice of his men, who 
selfishly decided not to risk their own miserable lives in order to 
save o'thers. The " Betsy's " course was accordingly shaped for 
Marblehead, where she arrived on the following Sunday. Her 
crew at once spread the news through the town of their having 
fallen in with a vessel foundering in the bay, when, to their 
honor, the Marblehead people immediately despatched two 
vessels to her relief. But the "Active" had then gone to the bot- 
tom of the sea, and the relieving vessels returned from a fruit- 
less search, only to increase the resentment alread}'^ felt against 
Skipper Ireson, upon whom his crew had thrown all the blame 
of their own dastardly conduct. Usually dead men tell no tales; 
but it so fell out that in this instance a more damning evidence 
to Ireson's inhumanity appeared, as it were, from the grave 
itself to confront him. It happened that on the morning next 
following the night of the " Betsy's " desertion of them, the 
captain and three others were rescued from the sinking vessel. 
They soon made public the story of the cruel conduct of the 
" Betsy's" people ; and as ill news travels fast, it was not long 
before it reached Marblehead, throwing that excitable town into a 
hubbub over the aspersions thus cast upon its good name. It 
was soon determined to take exemplary vengeance upon the 
offender. One bright moonlight night Skipper Ireson heard a 
knock at his door. Upon opening it he found himself in the 
nervous grasp of a band of resolute men, who silently hurried 



230 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

him off into a deserted place, — with what object, his fears alone 
could divine. They first securely pinioned and then besmeared 
him from head to foot with a coat of tar and feathers. In the 
morning the whole population of the town turned out to wit- 
ness or assist in this ignominious punishment, which had been 
planned by some of the bolder spirits, and silently approved by 
the more timid ones. Ireson in his filthy disguise was seated in 
the bottom of a dory, — instead of a cart, — and, surrounded 
by a hooting rabble, the unfortunate skipper was then dragged 
through the streets of the town as far as the Salem boundary- 
line, where the crowd was met and stopped by the selectmen of 
that town, who forbid their proceeding farther, — thus frustrating 
the original purpose to drag Ireson through the streets of Salem 
and of Beverly, as well as those of Marblehead. During Ireson's 
rough ride, the bottom of the dory had fallen out. The mob 
then procured a cart, and hfting the boat, culprit and all, upon 
it, in this way Ireson was taken back to Marblehead. More 
dead than alive, he was at last released from the hands of his 
tormentors and allowed to go home. When he was free, Ireson 
quietly said to them : " I thank you, gentlemen, for my ride ; but 
you will live to regret it." And thus ended Benjamin Ireson's 
shameful expiation of a shameful deed. 

Using the facts as they came to him, and with the sanction of 
what was in its own time very generally applauded as the 
righteous judgment of the people of Marblehead, the poet has 
put Ireson in a perpetual pillory, from which no sober second 
thought is able to rescue him. But whether culpable or not 
culpable in intention, his weakness in yielding to his dastard 
crew, if in fact he did so yield, amounted to a grave fault, closely 
verging upon the criminal. To-day everybody defends Ireson's 
memory from the charge which was once as universally believed 
to be true ; and the public verdict was, " served him right." 
Unfortunately, however, for him, his exasperated townsfolk exe- 
cuted justice on the spot, according to their own rude notions of 
it, before their wrath had had time to grow cool. But to this 
fact we owe the most idiosyncratic ballad of purely home origin 



SKIPPER ieeson's eide. 231 

in the language, although it is one for which the people of 
Marblehead have never forgiven the poet. 

With poetic instinct Whittier seized upon the incident, using 
more or less freedom in presenting its dramatic side. In the 
versified story we are made lookers on while the strange proces- 
sion, counting its 

Scores of women, old and young, 
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, 

Wrinkled scolds, with hands on hips. 

Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, 

Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 

Bacchus round some antique vase. 

Brief of skirt, with ankles bare. 

Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, 

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, — 

o-oes surging on through the narrow streets, now echoing to the 

wild refrain, — 

" Here 's Flud Oirson, for his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead ! " 

The only liberty that the poet has taken with the story is in 
saying, — 

Small pity for him ! — He had sailed away 
From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay, — 
Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
With his own town's-people on her deck ! 

The disaster really happened oft^ the Highlands of Cape Cod, 
and, so far as is known, there were no Marblehead people on 
board of the unlucky craft when she went down. But in truth 
such trifling departures from the literal facts are of little moment. 
The world long ago granted to the poets complete absolution for 
such venial sins as these are, seeing that since the days of 
Homer it has been their profession to give all possible enlarge- 
ment to their subjects. 



232 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Assuming the stigma upon Ireson's memory to he an unjust 
one, the antidote should accompany the poison. His reputation 
has found a vigorous defender in the verses which follow. 

A PLEA FOR FLOOD IRESON. 

CHARLES T. BROOKS. 

Old Flood Ireson ! all too long 
Have jeer and jibe and ribald song 
Done thy memory cruel wrong. 

Old Flood Ireson sleeps in his grave ; 
Howls of a mad mob, worse than the wave, 
Now no more in his ear shall rave ! 

Gone is the pack and gone the prey, 
Yet old Flood Ireson's ghost to-day 
Is hunted still down Time's highway. 

Old wife Fame, with a fish-horn's blare 
Hooting and tooting the same old air, 
Drags him along the old thoroughfare. 

Mocked evermore with the old refrain, 
Skilfully wrought to a tuneful strain. 
Jingling and jolting, he comes again 

Over that road of old renown, 
Fair broad avenue leading down 
Through South Fields to Salem town, 

Scourged and stung by the Muse's thong, 
Mounted high on the car of song, 
Sight that cries, O Lord ! how long 

Shall Heaven look on and not take part 

With the poor old man and his fluttering heart. 

Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart l 



SKIPPER IKESON's RIDE. 

Old Flood Iresou, now when Fame 
Wipes away with tears of shame 
Stains from many an injured name, 

Sluill not, in the timeful line, 
Beams of truth and mercy shine 
Throuoh the clouds that darken thine ? 



233 




CAPE ANN LEGENDS. 




CAPE ANN. 



BY command of Nature, one of those iron-ribbed ridges 
which it astounds us to see forests growing and people 
living upon, detaches itself from the Essex coast, and advances 
steadily five leagues out into the 
sea. Halting there, it covers its 
head with a bristling array of 
rocky islands and jagged reefs, 
which, like skirmishers in the 
front of battle, now here, now 
there, announce their presence in 
the offing by puffs of water smoke. 
An incessant combat rages be- 
tween these rocks and the advan- 
cing ocean. From the Highlands, 
at the land's end, it is possible on 
a clear day to make out the dim 

white streak of Cape Cod stretching its emaciated arm from the 
south coast towards tliis lialf-extended and rock-gauntleted one 
from the north. Between the two capes, which really seem to 
belong to difterent zones, is the entrance to the grand basin of 
Massachusetts Bay, over which, in the darkness, the brilliant 
rays from Thacher's and Highland lighthouses cross each other 
like flaming sword-blades. Among the thousands that have 
passed in or out, one seeks in his memory for only one little bark 
carrying an entire nation. The " Mayflower" passed here. 




THE MAGNOLIA. 



238 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

« 

The sea, we notice, welcomes the iutruding headland Avith in- 
hospitable arms ; but at the extreme point, where the rock is 
pierced and the sea flows in, there is a port of refuge that has 
grown to be the greatest fishing-mart in the Union. At nearly- 
all times, without regard to season, the waters around it are 
covered with a flight of sails entering or leaving the principal 
port, reminding one of the restless sea-gnlls that circle about 
their rocky aerie when bringing food to their young. 

The muscular shoulder of the Cape is occupied by the towns 
of Beverly, Wenham, and Hamilton, the central portion by 
Manchester and Essex, and the extremity by Gloucester and 
Rockport. Nearly the whole interior region remains the same 
untamed wilderness that it was a hundred years ago ; for among 
these rugged hills there is little land that is tit for farming, and 
that little is found in the hollows, or bordering upon occasional 
arms of the sea. There are, however, extensive and valuable 
forests of pine and cedar covering scattered portions with a per- 
ennial green. The sea having peopled it, and the land off"ering 
nothing better than stones, timber, and fuel, the fishing-villages 
were built close to the edge of the shore, where there were nat- 
ural harbors like that of Gloucester, or upon tidal creeks or inlets 
like those of Manchester and Annisquam. From these villages 
sprang a hardy race of sailors renowned in song and story. 
Cooper's " Captain Barnstable " comes from Chebacco, a precinct 
of Essex ; Miss Larcom's " Skipper Ben " from Beverly. One 
does not think of these people as having any fixed relation with 
the land : they are amphibious. 

Its general and apparently irreclaimable sterility drove the 
earliest settlers back upon the mainland. They therefore aban- 
doned their rude cabins and their fishing-stages at the extreme 
end of the Cape, and newly began at what was later on called 
Salem, which at first included the whole Cape. Yet notwith- 
standing this desertion, settlements were soon begun at Beverly 
and Manchester, and Gloucester was permanently re-occupied on 
account of the excellence and advantageous position of its har- 
bor. But for a time these settlements were very humble ones. 



CAPE ANN. 239 

Roger Conant says that in his time Beverly was nicknamed 
" Beggarly." He wished to have it changed to Budleigh, from 
a town in Devonshire, Engiaml. Conant should find a name 
somewhere on Cape Ann. That would at least lead to the 
inquiry "Who was Conant 1" He remarks that he had no 
hand in naming Salem, where he had built the first house. IS^or 
was Blackstone, the first white settler of Boston, or Eoger Wil- 
liams, who founded Providence, more fortunate in securing post- 
humous remembrance. 

Bayard Taylor was nevertheless extremely taken with the 
picturesqueness of the interior of Cape Ann, and he was a trav- 
eller who had grown something fastidious in his notions of natu- 
ral scenery. He speaks of it thus, — 

" A great charm of the place is the wild wooded scenery of the 
inland. There are many little valleys, branching and winding as if 
at random, where the forests of fir and pine, the great, mossy bowl- 
ders, the shade and coolness and silence, seem to transfer you at once 
to the heart of some mountain wilderness. The noise of the sea does 
not invade them ; even the salt odor of the air is smothered by the 
warm, resinous breath of the pines. Here you find slender brooks, 
pools spangled with ponddily blossoms, and marshes all in a tangle 
with wild flowers. After two or three miles of such scenery there is 
no greater surprise than to find suddenly a l)lue far deeper than that 
of the sky between the tree trunks, and to hear the roar of the break- 
ers a hundred feet below you." 

While exploring the coast one finds it continually shifting 
from beaches of hard sand, strewn with a fine dark gravel, to 
picturesque coves bordered all around with rocks shattered into 
colossal fragments, and bulging out like masses that have sud- 
denly cooled, rusted by spray, worn to glassy smoothness, yet 
all split and fractured and upheaved by the powerful blows 
dealt them by the waves. These coves make the most charm- 
ing summer retreats imaginable ; and some of them, like Old 
Kettle Cove, — which under the name of Magnolia has a 
sweeter sound, • — and Pigeon Cove, have turned their primitive 
solitudes into populousness, and their once worthless rocks into 
pedestals for the scores of beautiful villas that have sprung 



240 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

up like the work of magic upon tlieir bald aud overhanging 
brows. 

In one place, say that you leave the road in order to walk 
over a smooth esplanade of sand, up whose gentle slope panting 
wave chases panting wave unceasingly, while the forest-trees 
skirting the head of the beach bend over and watch this fierce 
play, with all their leaves trembling. You look off over the 
ridged and sparkling sea-foam into the open mouth of INIarble- 
head Harbor, whose iron headlands the distance softens to 
forms of wax. Two or three treeless islands, behind which a 
passing vessel lifts its snowy sails, are luxuriously dozing in the 
sun and sea. This must be the haven where the fleet of Win- 
throp first furled its tattered sails after a tempestuous voyage 
across the Atlantic of more than two months. Yes, there is 
Baker's Isle, and there is Little Isle, within which it anchored. 
Then it was here that the colonists, of whom he was the Moses, 
first sot foot upon the soil of their Promised Land ; and it 
was here they roamed among the rocky pastures, gathering wild 
strawberries and roses, examining everything with eager curi- 
osity, and perhaps with doubt whether it was all real, and 
would not vanish with the night. 

From the domain of History we enter that of Poetry over the 
threshold of Nature. 

Not many years ago, while he was the guest of the genial and 
gifted Fields, whose cottage is the conspicuous object on the bald 
brow of Thunderbolt Hill, in Manchester, Bayard Taylor was 
taken to visit, in his chosen and secluded retreat, the venerable 
poet who dated before Byron, Shelley, and Keats, and who dis- 
covered the genius of Bryant. The host and his guests are now 
dead; but the poet traveller, obeying the habit of a lifetime, 
jotted down some minutes of his visit, now serving to recall 
the man and the scene to our remembrance. He says : — 

" Retracing our way a mile or so, we took a different road, and 
approached the coast through open, grassy fields, beyond which, on 
the edge of a lofty bluff, stood the gray old mansion of the venerable 
poet, Richard H. Dana. The place is singularly wild, lonely, and 



CAFE ANN. 241 

picturesque. No other dwelling is visible. A little bight of the coast 
thrusts out its iron headlands at a short distance on either side ; the 
surf thunders incessantly below ; and in front the open ocean stretches 
to the sky. Mr. Dana's only neighbors are the vessels that come and 
go at greater or less distances." 

From this seclusion the Nestor of American poetry thus 
addresses the scene before him, in liis lines to the ocean. 

Now stretch your eye off shore, o'er waters made 
To cleanse the air and bear the world's great trade. 
To rise, and Wet the mountains near the smi, 
Then back into themselves in rivers run, 
Fulfilling mighty uses far and wide. 
Through earth, in air, or here, as ocean tide. 

Ho ! how the giant heaves himself and strains 
And flings to break his strong and viewless chains ; 
Foams in his wrath ; and at his prison doors, 
Hark ! hear him ! how he beats and tugs and roars. 
As if he would break forth again and sweep 
Each living thing within his lowest deep. 

And though the land is thronged again, sea ! 
Strange sadness touches all that goes with thee. 
The small bird's plaining note, the wild, sharp call. 
Share thy own spirit : it is sadness all ! 
How dark and stern ujjon thy waves looks down 
Yonder tall cliff — he with the iron crown. 
And see ! those sable pines along the steep 
Are come to join thy requiem, gloomy deep! 
Like stoled monks they stand and chant the dirge 
Over the dead with thy low-beating surge. 

As we approach the end of the Cape we enter a storied region. 
Here is the deep cleft known as Rafe's Chasm, and the tawny 
clump of stark ledges which the coast throws off and the sea 
flies incessantly at, called Norman's Woe. Then we enter the 
beautiful islet-studded harbor of Gloucester, and with an inter- 
est that the natural beauties of the spot enhance, we fix our 
eyes upon the verdurous southern shore ; for here the little 

16 



242 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

colony of Eoger Conant, the pioneer governor, maintained a 
struggling existence, until, like a garrison which can no longer 
hold out, it fell back to Salem, newly chose its ground, and 
again bravely confronted its old enemies, want and neglect. But 
long before liim, this cape in the sea picked up many adventur- 
ous voyageurs, one of whom presently demands a word from us. 

In the heart of the Gloucester woodlands a most interesting 
floral phenomenon exists. There, apparently defying nature's 
lines and laws, the beautiful magnolia of the South unfolds in 
secret its snowy flowers and exhales its spicy perfume. Another 
phenomenon is the beach at Manchester, whose sands emit weird 
musical tones when crushed by the passage of wheels through 
them. Still another is the enormous Moving Rock at Squam 
Common, — a heavy mass of granite so exactly poised that the 
pressure of a child's finger is sufficient to change its position. 

This sterile sea-cape may also lay claim to other and more 
enduring associations than the memories of a summer passed 
among its rocky sea-nooks can afford. Beverly Avas the home of 
Eobert Eantoul, whose epitaph has been written by Whittier, 
and of Lucy Larcom ; Hamilton that of Abigail Dodge ; Essex, 
of Rufus Choate ; Gloucester, of E. P. Whipple and William 
Winter. Manchester was Dana's by adoption, as well as the 
summer haunt of Holmes, James and Annie Fields, Elizabeth 
Phelps, and of that ancient landmark of the Boston Pulpit, the 
Reverend Dr. Bartol. The lamented Dr. E. H. Chapin loved his 
summer home at Pigeon Cove; and it was there he sought relief 
from the haunting " demon of the study." This was also the 
favorite haunt of Bryant and of Starr King; so that among 
those who were either native or who were habitually sojourners 
are many of the men and women most eminent in our literary 
annals. That fact of itself speaks volumes for the Cape. 

The legends of Cape Ann are indigenous, and are mostly sea- 
legends, as might be expected of a seafaring and sea-subsisting 
population, among wliom the marvellous always finds its most 
congenial soil. Let us add that no longer ago than last win- 
ter, in consequence of the prediction that a storm unexampled in 



CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 243 

the caiinals of the century was to burst forth with destructive fury 
over sea and land upon a given day, not a vessel of the Glouces- 
ter fishing fleet dared put to sea. Although the great " Wiggins 
storm " failed to make its appearance at the time predicted^the 
losses incurred by reason of the number of fishermen lying 'idly 
at their moorings amounted to many thousands of dollars." The 
first of these legends proper to be introduced — not forgetting 
that De Monts and Champlain had already named this penin° 
sula the Cape of Islands — is a sort of historical complement to 
our descrij^tion. 



CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. 

rp HE following lines from Whittier's beautiful apostrophe to 
-L his beloved river, "The Merrimack," introducing his col- 
lection of legendary pieces, is seen to be commemorative of that 
prince of explorers and hero of many exploits, Captain John 
Smith, to Avhom a perverse fortune has denied any share of 
honor for his efforts to make New England known and appreci- 
ated in the Old World. In the belief that none of these rugged 
rocks had ever received other baptism than tliat of the waves,\e 
first gave this promontory the name of "Tragabigzanda" for a 
perpetual souvenir of a fair Moslem to whom he owed a debt of 
love and gratitude, vrhile for a memorial of himself he conferred 
tliat of the " Three Turks' Heads " upon the three islands, Milk, 
Thacher's and Straitsmouth, lying off its extreme point, and 
now crowning it with their triple lights. 

But these names were so quickly superseded that the personal 
ambition of Smith has no other memorial than this : 

On yonder rocky cape, which braves 
The stormy challenge of the waves, 
Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, 
The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood. 
Planting upon the topmost crag 
The staff of England's battle-flag ; 



244 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

And, while from out its heavy fold 
St. George's crimson cross unrolled, 
Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, 
And weapons brandishing in air, 
He gave to that lone promontory 
The sweetest name in all his story ; 
Of her, the flower of Islam's daughters, 
"Whose harems look on Stamboul's waters, 
Who, when the chance of war had bound 
The Moslem chain his limbs around. 
Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain. 
Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, 
And fondly to her youthful slave 
A dearer gift than freedom gave. 



TEACHER'S ISLAND. 

THACHER'S Island is one of the most important light- 
house stations on the whole coast of the United States. 
It contains about eighty acres of gravelly soil thickly strewn 
with coarse granite bowlders, among which the light-keeper's 
cows crop a scanty growth of grass. The westernmost headland, 
upon which are some ancient graves, said to be those of the vic- 
tims of the first recorded shipwreck here, resembles Point Aller- 
ton, — it being a lofty cliff of gravel intermixed with bowlders 
that vary in size, from the smallest pebbles to those weighing 
many tons. It is continually crumbling away before the wear 
and tear of the southeast gales. 

The light-keeper's residence is a comfortable modern brick 
building of two stories. There is, or rather was, at the time of 
the writer's visit to the island, an old stone house standing 
there that was reputed to be of great age. The two light-towers, 
built of uncut granite, are each one hundred and fifty feet high, 
and they are furnished with lenses in which a dozen persons 
might stand erect without inconvenience. The keepers have all 



tiiachek's island. 245 

followed the sea. Only sailors are capable of appreciating the 
responsibility that the station imposes. One of the keepers 
said to me — and habitual care is stamped upon the faces of 
these men — "We know how eyes may be strained in thick 
weather at sea to get hold of the light ; and that makes us pain- 
fully anxious to keep it up to its full power, especially when 
frosts or sea-scud dims the lantern ; for that is the very time 
when minutes count for hours on board ship." 

ANTHONY THACHEE'S SHIPWEECK. 

The story of how Thacher's Island came by its name is one of 
tragical interest, and is found in a letter written by Anthony 
Thacher to his brother Peter, first printed in Increase Mather s 
" Eemarkable Providences." It is also briefly related in AYin- 
throp's "Journal," where it is entered, under the year of its 
occurrence, 1635, as an incident of the awful tempest that has 
thus become historical. The historian Hubbard, writing long 
after the event, says that "the like was never in this place 
known in the memory of man, before or since." On the land 
houses were overturned and unroofed, the corn was beaten down 
to the ground, and the harvest nearly rained, and thousands of 
trees were torn up by the roots, broken in two like pipe-stems, 
or twisted off" like withes, so that the effects of it were visible 
for many years afterwards. At sea its results were no less ter- 
rible, the tide rising to twenty feet on some parts of the coast, 
and being then kept from ebbing in its usual course by the 
extraordinary violence of the gale. Of the many disasters sig- 
nalizing its presence, that which the letter relates is a most 
graphic episode. It would be an injustice to the reader not to 
present it in all its primitive quaintness of form and style as a 
specimen literary composition of the day. Here it is : — 

I must turn my drowned pen and shaking hand to indite this story 
of such sad news as never before this happened in New England. 

There was a league of perpetual friendship between my cousin 
Avery and myself, never to forsake each other to the death, but to be 



246 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



partakers of each other's misery or welfare, as also of habitation, in 
the same place. Now upon our arrival in New England there was 
an offer made unto us. My cousin Avery was invited to ]\Iarble- 
head to be their pastor in due time ; there being no church planted 
there as yet, but a town appointed to set up the trade of fishing. 
Because many there (the most being fishermen) were something 
loose and remiss in their behavior, my cousin Avery was unwillinp- to 
go thither ; and so refusing, we went to Newberry, intending there 
to sit down. But being solicited so often both by the men of the 



'■) r: 







THE SHIPWRECK. 



place and by the magistrates, and by Mr. Cotton, and most of the 
ministers, who alleged what a benefit we might be to the people there, 
and also to the countiy and commonwealth, at length we embraced 
it, and thither consented to go. They of Marblehead forthwith sent 
a pinnace for us and our goods. 

We embarked at Ipswich, August 11, 1635, with our families and 
substance, bound for Marblehead, we being in all twenty-three souls, — 
viz., eleven in my cousin's family, seven in mine, and one Mr. Wil- 
liam Eliot, sometimes of New Sarum, and four mariners. The next 



thacher's island. 247 

morning, having commended ourselves to God, with cheerful hearts 
we hoisted sail. But the Lord suddenly turned our cheerfulness into 
mourning and lamentations. For on the 14th of this August, 1635, 
about ten at night, having a fresh gale of wind, our sails, being old 
and done, were split. The mariners, because that it was night, would 
not put to new sails, but resolved to cast anchor till the morning. 
But before daylight it pleased the Lord to send so mighty a storm, 
as the like was never known in New England since the English 
came, nor in the memory of any of the Indians. It was so fm'ious, 
that our anchor came home. Whereupon the mariners let out more 
cable, which at last slipped away. Then our sailors knew not what 
to do ; but we were driven before the wind and waves. 

My cousin and I perceived our danger, [and] solemnly recom- 
mended ourselves to God, the Lord both of earth and seas, expecting 
with every wave to be swallowed up and drenched in the deeps. 
And as my cousin, his wife, and my tender babes sat comforting and 
cheering one the other in the Lord against ghastly death, which every 
moment stared us in the face and sat triumphing upon each one's 
forehead, we were by the violence of the waves and fury of the winds 
(by the Lord's permission) lifted up upon a rock between two high 
rocks, yet all was one rock. But it raged with the stroke, which 
came into the pinnace, so as we were presently up to our middles in 
water, as we sat. The waves came furiously and violently over us, 
and against us ; but by reason of the rock's proportion could not lift 
us off, but beat her all to pieces. Now look with me upon our dis- 
tress, and consider of my misery, who beheld the ship broken, the 
water in her and violently overwhelming us, my goods and provis- 
ions swimming in the seas, my friends almost drowned, and mine 
own poor children so untimely (if I may so term it without offence) 
before mine eyes drowned, and ready to be swallowed iip and dashed 
to pieces against the rocks by the merciless waves, and myself ready 
to accompany them. But I must go on to an end of this woful 
relation. 

In the same room whereas he sat, the master of the pinnace, not 
knowing what to do, our foremast was cut down, our mainmast broken 
in three pieces, the fore part of the piimace beat away, our goods 
swimming about the seas, my children bewailing me, as not pitying 
themselves, and myself bemoaning them, poor souls, whom I had 
occasioned to such an end in their tender years, whenas they could 
scarce be sensible of death, — and so likewise my cousin, his wife, 



248 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

and his children ; and both of us bewailing each other in our Lord 
and only Saviour Jesus Christ, in whom only we had comfort and 
cheerfulness : insomuch that, from the greatest to the least of us, 
there was not one screech or outcry made ; but all, as silent sheep, 
were contentedly resolved to die together lovingly, as since our 
acquaintance we had lived together friendly. 

Now as I was sitting in the cabin room door, with my body in the 
room, when lo ! one of the sailors, by a wave being washed out of the 
pinnace, was gotten in again, and coming into the cabin room over 
my back, cried out, " We are all cast away. The Lord have mercy 
upon us ! I have been washed overboard into the sea, and am gotten 
in again." His speeches made me look forth. And looking toward 
the sea, and seeing how we were, I turned myself to my cousin and 
the rest, and spake these words : " O cousin, it hath pleased God to 
cast us hei'e between two rocks, the shore not far from us, for I saw 
the tops of trees when I looked forth." Whereupon the master of 
the pinnace, looking up at the scuttle-hole of the quarter-deck, went 
out at it ; but I never saw him afterward. Then he that had been 
in the sea went out again by me, and leaped overboard toward the 
rocks, whom afterward also I could not see. 

Now none were left in the bark that I knew or saw, but my cousin, 
his wife and children, myself and mine, and his maidservant. But 
my cousin thought I Avould have fled from him, and said unto me : 
" cousin, leave us not, let us die together ; " and reached forth his 
hand imto me. Then I, letting go my son Peter's hand, took him by 
the hand and said : " Cousin, I purpose it not. W^hither shall I go ? 
I am willing and ready here to die with you and my poor children. 
God be merciful to us, and receive us to himself ! " adding these 
words : " The Lord is able to help and deliver us." He replied, saying, 
" Truth, cousin ; but what his pleasure is, we know not. I fear we 
have been too unthankful for former deliverances. But he hath 
promised to deliver us from sin and condemnation, and to bring us 
safe to heaven through the all-sufficient satisfaction of Jesus Christ. 
This, therefore, we may challenge of him." To which I, replying, 
said, " That is all the deliverance I now desire and expect." 

Which words I had no sooner spoken, but by a mighty wave I was, 
with the piece of the bark, washed out upon part of the rock, where 
the wave left me almost drowned. But recovering my feet, I saw 
above me on the rock my daughter Mary. To whom I had no 
sooner gotten, but my cousin Avery and his eldest son came to us, 



thacher's island. 249 

being all four of ns washed out by one and the same wave. We went 
all into a small hole on the top of the rock, whence we called to those 
in the pinnace to come imto us, supposing we had been in more safetj- 
than they were in. My wife, seeing us there, was crept up into the 
scuttle of the quarter-deck, to come unto us. But presently came 
another wave, and dashing the pinnace all to pieces, carried my wife 
away in the scuttle as she was, with the greater part of the c[uarter- 
deck, unto the shore ; where she was cast safely, but her legs were 
something bruised. And much timber of the vessel being there also 
cast, she was some time before she could get away, being washed by 
the waves. All the rest that were in the bark were drowned in the 
merciless seas. We four by that wave were clean swept away from 
off the rock also into the sea ; the Lord, in one instant of time, dis- 
posing of fifteen souls of us according to his good pleasure and will. 

His pleasure and wonderful great mercy to me was thus. Stand- 
ing on the rock, as before you heard, with my eldest daughter, my 
cousin, and his eldest son, looking upon and talking to them in the 
bark, whenas we were by that merciless wave washed off the rock, as 
before you heard, God, in his mercy, caused me to fall, by the stroke 
of the wave, flat on my face ; for my face was toward the sea. Inso- 
much, that as I was sliding off the rock into the sea, the Lord directed 
my toes into a joint in the rock's side, as also the tops of some of my 
fingers, with my right hand, by means whereof, the w^ave leaving me, 
I remained so hanging on the rock, only my head above the water ; 
when on the left hand I espied a board or plank of the pinnace. And 
as I was reaching out my left hand to lay hold on it, by another com- 
ing over the top of the rock I was -washed away from the rock, and 
by the violence of the waves was driven hither and thither in the 
seas a great while, and had many dashes against the rocks. At length, 
past hopes of life, and wearied in body and spirits, I even gave over 
to nature ; and being ready to receive in the waters of death, I lifted 
up both my heart and hands to the God of heaven, — for note, I had 
my senses remaining perfect with me all the time that I was under 
and in water, — who at that instant lifted my head above the top of the 
water, that so I might breathe without any hindrance by the waters. 
I stood bolt upright, as if I had stood upon my feet ; but I felt no 
bottom, nor had any footing for to stand upon but the waters. 

While I was thus above the water, I saw by me a piece of the mast, 
as I suppose, about three foot long, which I labored to catch into my 
arms. But suddenly I was overwhelmed with water, and driven to 



250 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

and fro again, and at last I felt the ground with my right foot. When 
immediately, whilst I was thus grovelling on my face, I, presently 
recovering my feet, was in the water up to my breast, and through 
God's great mercy had my face nnto the shore, and not to the sea. I 
made haste to get out, but was thrown down on my hands with the 
waves, and so with safety crept to the dry shore, where, blessing 
God, I turned about to look for my children and friends, but saw 
neither, nor any part of the pinnace, where I left them, as I supposed. 
But I saw my wife, about a butt length from me, getting herself forth 
from amongst the timber of the broken bark ; but before I could get 
unto her, she was gotten to the shore. I was in the water, after I 
was washed from the rock, before 1 came to the shore, a quarter of an 
hour at least. 

When we were come each to other, we went and sat under the 
bank. But fear of the seas' roaring, and our coldness, would not 
suffer us there to remain. But we went up into the land, and sat us 
down under a cedar-tree, which the wind had thrown down, where 
we sat about an hour, almost dead with cold. But now the storm 
was broken up, and the wind was calm ; but the sea remained rough 
and fearful to us. My legs were much bruised, and so was my head. 
Other hurt had I none, neither had I taken in much quantity of 
water. But my heart would not let me sit still any longer ; but I 
would go to see if any niore were gotten to the land in safety, espe- 
cially hoping to have met with some of my own poor children; but I 
could find none, neither dead nor yet living. 

You condole with me my miseries, who now began to consider of 
my losses. Now came to my remembrance the time and manner how 
and when I last saw and left my children and friends. One was 
severed from me sitting on the rock at my feet, the other three in the 
pinnace ; my little babe (ah, poor Peter!) sitting in his sister Edith's 
arms, who to the uttermost of her power sheltered him from the 
waters ; my poor William standing close unto them, all three of them 
looking ruefidly on me on the rock, their very coimtenances calling 
unto me to help them ; whom I could not go unto, neither could they 
come at me, neither would the merciless waves afford me space or 
time to use any means at all, either to help them or myself. Oh, I 
yet see their cheeks, poor silent lambs, pleading pity and help at my 
hands. Then, on the other side, to consider the loss of my dear 
friends, with the spoiling and loss of all our goods and provisions, 
myseK cast upon an unknown land, in a wilderness, I knew not 



THACHER'S ISLAND. 251 

where nor how to get thence. Then it came to my mind how I had 
occasioned the death of my children, who caused them to leave their 
native land, who might have left them there, yea, and might have 
sent some of them back again, and cost me nothing. These and such 
like thoughts do press down my heavy heart very much. 

But I must let this pass, and will proceed on in the relation of 
God's goodness unto me in that desolate island, on which I was cast. 
I and my wife were almost naked, both of us, and wet and cold even 
unto death. 1 found a snapsack cast on the shore, in which I had a 
steel, and flint, and powder-horn. Going farther, I found a drowned 
goat ; then I found a hat, and my son William's coat, both which 
I put on. My wife found one of her petticoats, which she put on. I 
found also two cheeses and some butter driven ashore. Thus the 
Lord sent us some clothes to put on, and food to sustain our new 
lives, which we had lately given unto us, and means also to make 
tire ; for in a horn I had some gunpowder, which, to mine own, and 
since to other men's admiration, was dry. So taking a piece of my 
wife's neckcloth which I dried in the sun, 1 struck fire, and so dried 
and warmed our wet bodies ; and then skinned the goat, and having 
found a small brass pot, we boiled some of her. Our drink was 
brackish water ; bread we had none. 

There we remained until the Monday following ; when, about 
three of the clock in the afternoon, in a boat that came that way, we 
went ofl' that desolate island, which I named after my name, Thacher's 
Woe, and the rock, Avery his Fall, to the end that their fall and loss, 
and mine own, might be had in perpetual remembrance. In the isle 
lieth buried the l)ody of my cousin's eldest daughter, whom I found 
dead on the shore. On the Tuesday following, in the afternoon, we 
arrived at Marblehead. 

Such an event would naturally have its poetic pendant. Tlie 
simple pathos of the prose narrative may now be contrasted 
with the chaste beauty of Whittier's " Swan Song of Parson 
Avery," which turns upon the popular fallacy that the swan 
pours forth its expiring breath in song. 



252 NEW-ENGLAJfD LEGENDS. 

THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late, 
Parson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and children 

eight. 
Dropping down the river-harbor in the shallop " Watch and Wait." 

All day they sailed : at nightfall the pleasant land-breeze died, 
The blackening sky, at midnight, its starry lights denied, 
And far and low the thunder of tempest prophesied ! 

All at once the great cloud parted, like a curtain drawn aside, 
To let down the torch of lightning on the terror far and wide ; 
And the thunder and the whirlwind together smote the tide. 

There was wailing in the shallop, woman's wail and man's despair, 
A crash of breaking timbers on the rocks so sharp and bare. 
And, through it all, the murmur of Father Avery's prayer. 

" In this night of death I challenge the promise of thy word ! — 
Let me see the great salvation of which mine ears bave heard ! — 
Let me pass from hence forgiven, through the grace of Christ, our 
Lord ! " 

When the Christian sings his death-song, all the listening heavens 

draw near, 
And the angels, leaning over the walls of crystal, hear 
How the notes so faint and broken swell to music in God's ear. 

The ear of God was open to his servant's last request ; 

As the strong wave swept him downward the sweet hymn upward 

pressed, 
And the soul of Father Avery went, singing, to its rest. 



THE SPECTKE LEAGUEKS. 253 



THE SPECTRE LEAGUERS. 

THE fatal year 1692, in which the -witchcraft terrorism so 
thoroughly permeated things mundane, has one ludicrous 
chapter to redeem it from utter fatuity. ^ 

It is gravely told in the " Magnalia Christi " of Cotton Mather, 
and on the authority of the Reverend John Emerson, of Glou- 
cester, how a number of rollicking apparitions, dressed like gentle- 
men, in white waistcoats and breeches, kept that and the neigh- 
boring towns in a state of feverish excitement and alarm for a 
whole fortnight together. And neither of the reverend persons 
named seems to have entertained a doubt that these unaccount- 
able molestations were caused by the Devil and his agents in 
■propria persona, who took the human form for the better exe- 
cution of their deep design. It is not very clear what that de- 
sign was. The spectres, if such they were, — and as it would 
be impardonable in us to doubt, — appear to have been a harm- 
less sort of folk enough, for they did no injury either to the per- 
sons or the property of the inhabitants, thus laying their natural 
propensities under a commendable restraint. But the fact that 
they were spirits, and no ordinary spirits at that, being so con- 
fidently vouched for, and by such high authority on such mat- 
ters as Dr. Cotton Mather, would seem to dispose of all doubt 
upon the subject. Should any, however, remain in the reader's 
mind after perusing the following account, he is reminded that 
what he has read is the sworn evidence of men who actually 
fought with, and on more than one occasion disgracefully routed 
and drove the invading demons before them into dark swamps 
and thickets. These witnesses are all persons of character and 
credibility. Moreover, their testimony remains unshaken by any 
subsequent revelations to this day. The reader may therefore 
depend upon the authoritative character of the narrative. 



254 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

In the midsummer time, in the year 1G92, of fatal memory, 
Ebenezer Babson, a sturdy yeoman of Cape Ann, with the rest 
of his family, almost every night heard noises as if some persons 
were walking or running hither and thither about the house. 
He being out late one night, when returning home saw two men 
come out of his own door, and then at sight of him run swiftly 
from the end of the house into the adjoining cornfield. Going 
in, he immediately questioned his family concerning these 
strange visitors. They promptly rej^lied that no one at all had 
been there during his absence. Staggered by this denial, but 
being withal a very resolute, stout-hearted man, Babson seized 
his gun and went out in pursuit of the intruders. When he had 
gone a little way from the house, he saw the same men suddenly 
start up from behind a log and run into a swamp that was near 
by. He also overheard one say to the other, " The man of the 
house is now come, else we might have taken the house." Then 
he lost sight of them. 

Upon this, expecting an immediate attack, the whole family 
rose in consternation, and went with all haste to the nearest 
garrison, which was only a short distance off. They had only 
just entered it when they heard heavy footfalls, as if a number 
of men were trampling on the ground around it. Then Babson 
again took his gun and ran out, and he again saw the two men 
running away down the hill into the swamp. By this time 
no one doubted that they were threatened with an Indian for- 
ray, that these men were the enemy's scouts, and that the 
danger was imminent. 

The next night but one, Babson, for the third time, saw two 
men, who he thought looked like Frenchmen, one of them hav- 
ing a bright gun, such as the French Canadians used, slung on 
his back. Both of them started towards him at the top of their 
speed ; but Babson, taking to his heels, made good his escape 
into the garrison, and so eluded them. When he had got safely 
in, the noise of men moving about on the outside was again 
distinctly heard. I^ot long after these strange things had taken 
place, Babson, with another man, named John Brown, saw three 



THE SPECTRE LEAGUEES. 



255 



men (the number, like FalstafF's men in buckram, bad now in- 
creased to three), whom they tried hard to get a shot at, but did 
not, owing to the strangers' dodging about in so lively a manner 
that they could not take aim. For two or three nights these 
men, or devils in the form of men, continued to appear in the 
same mysterious way, for the purpose of drawing the Cape men 
out into a wild-goose chase after them. On July 14, Babson, 
Brown, and all the garrison saw within gunshot of them half-a- 
dozen men, whom they supposed to be reconnoitring, or trying 




A SOKTIE UPON THE DEMONS. 



to decoy them into an ambush. The brave garrison at once 
sallied out in hot pursuit. Babson, who seems to have ever 
sought the forefront of battle, presently overtook two of the 
skulking vagabonds, took good aim, and pulled the trigger ; but 
his trust}^ gun missed fire, and they got away and hid them- 
selves among the bushes. He then called out to his comrades, 
who immediately answered, " Here they are ! here they are ! " 
when Babson, running to meet them, saw three men stealing out 
of the swamp side by side. Bringing his gun to his shoulder, 
with sure aim this time he fired ; when all three fell as if shot. 



256 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Almost beside himself, Babson cried out to his companious that 
he had killed three. But when he was come nearly up to tlie 
supposed dead men, they all rose up and ran away, apparently 
without hurt or wound of any kind. Indeed one of them gave 
Babson a shot in return for his own, the bullet narrowly miss- 
ing him, and burying itself in a tree, from which it was after- 
ward dug out, and preserved as a trophy of the combat. Babson 
thinking this warm work, took refuge behind a tree and reloaded. 
Then, his comrades having joined him, they all charged together 
upon the spot where the fugitives lay concealed. Again the 
spectres started up before their eyes and ran, " every man his 
way." One, however, they surrounded and hemmed in, and 
Babson, getting a fair shot at him, saw him drop. But when 
search was made, the dead body had vanished. After a fruit- 
less liunt, during which the stout-hearted Colonists heard a loud 
talking going on in the swamp, in some outlandish jargon they 
could not understand a word of, they returned, crestfallen and 
half dead with fatigue, to the garrison, in order to report their 
ill-success. But no sooner were the}'' back there, than they saw 
more men skulking among the bushes, who prudently kept out 
of gunshot. What could it all mean"? 

The next morning Babson started to go over to the harbor in 
order to give the alarm there, for it was not doubted by any one 
that an attack was imminent. While on his Avay thither he 
was waylaid and fired at by the " unaccountable troublers," who, 
strange to say, loaded their guns with real bullets, as poor Bab- 
son was near finding out to his cost. Having procured help, 
the neighborhood was scoured for traces of the attacking party, 
two of Avhom were seen, but not being mortal flesh and blood, 
could not be harmed by lead or steel. 

In the course of a few days more, two of the garrison went 
out upon a scout, who saw several men come out of an orchard, 
in which they seemed to be performing some strange incanta- 
tions. They counted eleven of them. Eichard Dolliver raised 
his gun and fired into the midst of them, where they stood the 
thickest ; but of course without other effect than to make them 
scatter as before. 



THE SPECTKE LEAGUERS. 257 

It now being clear that the strange visitors bore a charmed 
life, and that the Cape was in great peril from this diabolical 
invasion, the end of which no man could foresee, the aid of the 
surrounding towns was invoked in this truly alarming crisis. 
A reinforcement of sixty men from Ipswich, led by Captain Ap- 
pleton, coming promptly to the rescue, gave the garrison much 
encouragement, beleaguered round as they were by the Powers 
of Darkness, against which lead and steel were of no more effect 
than snowballs or rushes would have been. For a fortnight 
they had been kept in continual alarm, night and day. The 
infernal visitants showed themselves first in one place and then 
in another, to draw out and harass them, until a foeman seemed 
lurking in every bush. Though repeatedly shot at, none could 
be killed. They threw stones, beat upon barns with clubs, and 
otherwise acted more in the spirit of diabolical revelry than as 
if actuated by any deadlier purpose. They moved about the 
swamps without leaving any tracks, like ordinary beings. In 
short, it was evident that such adversaries as these were, must 
be fought with other weapons besides matchlocks and broad- 
swords ; consequently a strange fear fell upon the Cape. 

Finally they became still more insolently bold, and so far 
from showing the same cowardly disposition to take to their 
heels whenever they were chased, they now treated their pur- 
suers with open contempt. For instance, seeing three of the 
unknown approaching him one morning, walking slowly and 
apparently unmindful of any danger, Babson ensconced himself 
behind some bushes to lie in wait for them. He held his fire 
until they were come -within a stone's throw before he pulled 
the trigger. But to his unspeakable dismay his gun flashed in 
the pan, though he repeatedly snapped it at the phantoms, who 
took no other notice of him than to give him a disdainful look 
as they walked by. Yet he soon afterward snapped the same 
gun several times in succession, and it never once missed fire. 
The goblins liad charmed it ! 

It being settled that these insults proceeded from spectres, and 
not from beings who were vulnerable to weapons of mortal make, 

17 



258 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

the unequal contest was abandoned. When this was done, the 
demons' occupation being gone, they too disappeared. 

It should be said in conclusion, and on the same authority 
as that to which we owe the narration, that the most conserva- 
tive minds regarded these occurrences as a part of the descent 
from the invisible world then menacing the peace of the Colony, 
and threatening the churches therein with irretrievable disaster. 

The poetic version of this legend opens with a glimpse of the 
scene that is itself worth a whole chapter of description. We 
are then introduced to the Colonial garrison-house, rudely but 
strongly built, to protect the settlers from their savage foes, and 
to its valiant defenders, who with their useless arms in their 
hands await in dread the assault of the demons. Mr. Whittier, 
be it said, is seldom happier than when dealing with the legend- 
ary lore extracted from the old chronicles. In him the spirit 
of an antiquary and the feeling of the poet exist in as amiable 
fellowship as they did in Sir Walter Scott, who ransacked the 
legends of Scotland for his tales in prose or verse. 

THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

Where the sea-waves back and forward, hoarse with rolling pebbles, 

ran, 
The garrison-house stood watching on the gray rocks of Cape Ann ; 
On its windy site uplifting gabled roof and palisade, 
And rough walls of unhewn timber with the moonlight overlaid. 

Before the deep-mouthed chimney, dimly lit by dying brands, 
Twenty soldiers sat and waited, with their muskets in their hands ; 
On the rough-hewn oaken table the venison haunch was shared. 
And the pewter tankard circled slowly round from beard to beard. 

But their voices sank yet lower, sank to husky tones of fear. 
As they spake of present tokens of the powers of evil near ; 
Of a spectral host, defying stroke of steel and aim of gun ; 
Never yet was ball to slay them in the mould of mortals run ! 



OLD MEG, THE WITCH. 259 

Midnight came ; from out the forest moved a dusky mass that soon 
Grew to warriors, plumed and painted, grimly marching in the moon. 
" Ghosts or witches," said the captain, " thus I foil the Evil One ! " 
And he rammed a silver button, from his doublet, down his gun. 

" God preserve us ! " said the captain ; '''never mortal foes were there ; 
They have vanished with their leader, Prince and Power of the air ! 
Lay aside your useless weapons ; skill and prowess naught avail ; 
They who do the Devil's service wear their master's coat of mail ! " 

So the night grew near to cock-crow, when again a warning call 
Roused the score of weary soldiers watching round the dusky hall ; 
And they looked to flint and priming, and they longed for break of 

day ; 
But the captain closed his Bible : " Let us cease from man, and 

pray ! " 

To the men who went before us, all the unseen powers seemed near, 
And their steadfast strength of courage struck its roots in holy fear. 
Every hand forsook the musket, every head was bowed and bare, 
Every stout knee pressed the flagstones, as the captain led in prayer. 

Ceased thereat the mystic marching of the spectres round the wall. 
But a sound abhorred, unearthly, smote the ears and hearts of all, — 
Howls of rage and shrieks of anguish ! Never after mortal man 
Saw the ghostly leaguers marching round the blockhouse of Cape 
Ann. 



OLD MEG, THE WITCH. 

WE can easily bring the age of credulity as far forward as 
the middle of the last century, by means of a local 
legend in which mediaeval superstition respecting witches sur- 
vives in full vigor. The test of the silver bullet recalls the 
weird incantation scene in " Der Freischiitz," and all the demon 
lore associated with the gloomy depths of the Hartz. 



260 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

There was a reputed witch by the name of Margaret Wesson, 
and familiarly known by the name of "Old Meg," who once 
resided in Gloucester. After having been for many years the 
object of superstitious curiosity and dread to the inhabitants of 
the Cape, she at length came to her end in the following strange 
and mysterious manner. At the time of the celebrated victorious 
siege of Louisburg by the Colonial troops in 1745, two soldiers 
of the Massachusetts line belonging to Gloucester happened to 
have their attention drawn to the movements of a crow that 
kept hovering over them. They threw stones, and then fired 
their muskets at it, but could neither touch nor terrify it ; the 
bird still continued Hying round them and cawing horribly in 
their ears. At length it occurred to one of them that it might 
be Old Meg. He communicated his suspicions to his comrade ; 
and as nothing but silver was believed to have any power to 
injure a witch, they cut the silver buttons off from their uni- 
form coats and discharged them at the crow. The experiment 
succeeded. At the first shot they broke its leg ; at the second 
it fell dead at their feet. When they returned to Gloucester, 
they learned that Old Meg had broken her leg while walking 
by the fort in that place at the precise time when they had shot 
and killed the crow five hundred miles distant ; after lingering 
for a while in great agony she died. And now comes the sin- 
gular part of the story ; for upon examining her fractured limb, 
the identical silver buttons which the soldiers had fired from 
their muskets under the walls of Louisburg were extracted from 
the flesh. The story of Old Meg was long familiarly told in 
Gloucester, although the credulity which once received it as 
solemn truth has nearly, if not quite, passed away, says the 
Eeverend Charles W. Upham, who makes the statement so 
lately as 1832. It has, however, been reproduced among the 
sober records of fact contained in Mr. Babson's "History of 
Gloucester." 



AN ESCAPE FKOM PIKATES. 261 



AN ESCAPE FROM PIRATES. 

ACCORDING to the historian Thncydides, the Greeks were 
the first pirates. The ancient poets tell us that those 
who sailed along the coasts in quest of prey were everywhere 
accosted with the question, " wliether they were pirates," not as 
a term of reproach, but of honor. So also the vikings of the 
North were little less than corsairs, whose valiant deeds of arms, 
and whose adventurous voyages to distant lands, celebrated in 
their sagas, were conceived and performed with no nobler pur- 
pose than robbery. 

But the modern pirate had neither the rude sense of honor 
nor the chivalrous notions of warfare distinguishing his ancient 
prototype. He was simply a robber and a murderer, bidding all 
honest traders to " stand and deliver " like the aquatic liighway- 
man that he was. Even the mildest-mannered man among them 
" that ever scuttled ship or cut a throat " was no more than 
this ; while the majority were beings fitted by nature for a career 
of crime, the bare recital of which makes us shudder. 

During the first quarter of the eighteenth century our own 
seas swarmed with these freebooters, whose depredations upon 
our commerce are the theme of some of the most startling epi- 
sodes preserved in the whole annals of piracy. Blackbeard, Low, 
and Phillips stand pre-eminent at the head of this black list. 
It is with the last that our story has to do. 

In the course of his last piratical cruise, during which he 
swept the coast from Jamaica to Newfoundland, Phillips fell in 
with and captured the sloop " Dolphin," Andrew Harraden, 
master, belonging to Cape Ann. The " Dolphin," being a bet- 
ter vessel than his own, the pirate transferred his black flag to 
her, sending the crew away in another of his prizes. Captain 
Harraden was, however, detained a prisoner on board his own 



262 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

vessel. Two of the pirate crew, John Fillmore, of Ipswich, and 
Edward Cheesman were men whom Phillips had taken out of 
the ships that he had plundered and pressed into his service, 
thus making them pirates against their will. Being found use- 
ful, Cheesman had been promoted to the post of ship's carpenter 
shortly before the " Dolphin" was captured. Both he and Fill- 
more, however, were brave young fellows, and both had fully 
determined, come what might, to take the first opportunity 
that presented itself of escaping from Phillips' clutches ; but the 
jealous watchfulness of the older pirates was such that they 
could get no opportunity of talking to each other about what 
was in their minds, except when feigning to be asleep, or when 
pretending to play at cards together. But by stealth they at 
length came to an understanding. 

To Captain Harraden these two presently broached their pur- 
pose ; and finding him ready and willing to strike a blow for the 
recovery of his vessel and his liberty, they with four confeder- 
ates, who were already pledged to stand by them, fixed the day 
and the hour for making the hazardous attempt. 

When the appointed hour of noon had arrived, Cheesman, the 
leader, with Fillmore and Harraden, were on deck, as also were 
Nut, the master of the " Dolphin," a fellow of great strength 
and courage, the boatswain, and some others of the pirate crew. 
But of all on board, Nut and the boatswain were the two whom 
the conspirators most feared to encounter. Cheesman, however, 
promised to take care of the master if the others would attend 
to the boatswain. No firearms were to be used. The attack 
was to be suddenly made, and possession of the deck to be 
gained, before the alarm should spread below. 

Cheesman, having left his working tools on the deck, as if he 
were going to use them about the vessel, walked aft to begin 
with the master ; but seeing some signs of timidity in Harraden, 
he came back, gave him and his mates a dram of brandy each, 
drinking to the boatswain and the master the toast, "To our 
next merry-meeting." He then took a turn up and down the 
deck with Nut, in order to occupy the pirate's attention, while 



NORMAN'S WOE. 263 

Fillmore, as if in sport, picked up the carpenter's axe from where 
it was lying, and began to twirl it around on the point. 

This was the signal agreed upon. Cheesman instantly gi'ap- 
pled with the master, and, being a man of powerful frame, after 
a brtef struggle pitched him over the side into the sea. Fill- 
more, rushing upon the boatswain, with one blow of the axe 
laid him dead upon the deck. The noise of the scuffle brought 
the pirate chief on deck ; but Cheesman quickly disabled him 
with a blow from the carpenter's mallet, which fractured his jaw- 
bone. Having armed himself with an adze, Harraden then 
sprang upon Phillips with his uplifted weapon ; but the gunner 
of the pirate interposing between them, Cheesman tripped up 
his heels, throwing him into the arms of a confederate, who 
flung him overboard, after the master. Harraden then finished 
with Phillips. 

The conspirators then jumped into the hold and fell upon 
the quartermaster, Avho was the only officer remaining alive ; 
when a young lad on board pleaded so earnestly for his life that 
he was spared. The rest of the pirate crew being securely put 
in irons, the vessel was steered directly for Boston, where she 
arrived on the 3d of May, 1724, to the great joy of the people of 
the province. Two of the Pirates, Archer, the quartermaster, 
and William White, were tried, convicted, and executed. Fill- 
more, Cheesman, and their confederates were honorably acquit- 
ted. John Fillmore, the pirate in spite of himself, was the 
great-grandfather of the thirteenth President of the United 
States. 



NORMAN'S WOE. 

TOUCHING the name of the rock called Norman's Woe, 
little more is known than that Goodman Norman and his 
son were among the first to settle here ; and it is therefore as- 
sumed that this headland and its outlying islet preserve a family 



264 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



surname at once bold and picturesque. That no record is known, 
to explain how the rock originally received its name, or what the 
catastrophe it was intended to perpetuate, is only another in- 
stance of the instability of local traditions. Many of the names 
now in use on Cape Ann go as far back as the first decade of the 
settlement. For instance, Kettle Island and Baker's Island were 
named before 1634. This one, like Thacher's Island, is pro- 
bably commemorative of some uncommon individual experience 
or disaster; but whatever that may have been, its memory is 
probably lost beyond recovery. 




NORMAN S WOE KOCK. 



Not lost its claim to a wider celebrity than some of our most 
famous battlefields, for it is the scene so vividly described in 
Longfellow's " Wreck of the ' Hesperus.' " 

In his biographical sketch of the poet Longfellow, Mr. Francis 
H. Underwood says of this ballad that it "is deservedly ad- 
mired, especially for the vigor of its descriptions. It is," he 
continues, " in truth a ballad such as former centuries knew, and 
which are seldom written now. Its free movement, directness, 
and pictorial power combine to make it one of the most remark- 
able of the author's poems." 



nokman's woe. 265 

Yet Mr. Fields, the poet's genial friend and whilom his pub- 
lisher, says that the " Wreck of the ' Hesperus ' " hardly caused 
its author an effort. The facts with regard to its composition 
are these : After a dreadful gale in the winter of 1839, which 
strewed the coast with wrecks, he had been reading the cata- 
logue of its disasters with which the newspapers were filled. 
The stormy Cape had reaped its full share of this terrible har- 
vest. Forty dead bodies, among them that of a woman lashed 
to a piece of wreck, had been washed up on the Gloucester 
shore. One of the lost vessels was named the " Hesperus," and 
the name of Norman's Woe now met his eye, — perhaps for the 
first time. The event impressed him so deeply that he deter- 
mined to write a ballad upon it. Late one night as he sat by the 
fire smoking his pipe, the whole scene came vividly into his 
mind ; and under the absorbing impulse of the moment, taking 
his pen, he wrote this most graphic of ballads. He then went to 
bed, but, as he tells us, not to sleep ; for new thoughts were run- 
ning in his head which kept him awake. He rose and added 
them to the first draught. At three in the morning he had fin- 
ished the ballad as it stands. 

Although, in point of fact, no such vessel as the " Hesperus " 
was wrecked on the reef of Norman's W^oe, the poet's versified 
story is founded upon a real incident, to which the use of these 
names lends a terrible interest. In one sense, therefore, this 
ballad belongs to the legendary ; but by the poet's genius it is 
now firmly associated with the surf-beaten rock of Cape Ann, 
whose name of terror, derived from some unrecorded disaster, 
found no reason for its being, until a few strokes of the pen gave 
it immortality. 

From being merely the scene of a wreck, Norman's Woe has 
become a spot consecrated by genius. It is, therefore, no com- 
mon rock, but a monument to Mr. Longfellow far more sug- 
gestive and enduring than any memorial shaft that the most 
reverent hands niay raise over his honored dust. " The letter 
killeth, but the spirit giveth life." 

The ballad is, as Mr. Underwood says, written in the quaint 



266 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

old manner ; but what is more to the purpose, it has the genuine 
ring, nervous action, sonorous rhythm, and unmistakable flavor 
of the sea throughout. Those stanzas descriptive of the increas- 
ing fury of the gale have never been surpassed in the language. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Northeast, 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear. 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Towards the Reef of Norman's Woe. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool. 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 

With the masts went by the board ; 
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank. 

Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair. 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 



HANNAH BINDING SHOES. 267 



HANNAH BINDING SHOES. 

" Beverly Farms, Mass., Dec. 22, 1874. 

" Dear Sir, — As to ' Hannah's ' locale, it is bard to determine. 
I used to see her at all the windows in Beverly when I was a little 
child ; but I saw her more distinctly, about twenty years ago, on 
the road between Beverly and Marblebead. I think she lived in the 
latter place qviit.e as much as at the former. You see my home was 
in Beverly, and we Beverly children were rather afraid of the ^larble- 
headers ; they had the reputation of ' rocking ' their neighbors out 
of town. I suspect, on the whole, that ' Hannah ' must have been 
a tramp, and bound shoes anywhere she put up. Mr. Wood, who 
painted her picture, says he was shown her house in Marblehead. 
and he ought to know. 

" But I have honestly told you all I know about her, except as a 
lodger in my imagination. 

" Sincerely ashamed of my ignorance, I am truly yours, 

"Lucy Larcom." 

Poor lone Hannah, 
Sitting at the window binding shoes ! 

Faded, wrinkled. 

Sitting, stitching in a mournful muse. 

Bright-eyed beauty once was she 

When the bloom was on the tree. 

Spring and winter 

Hannah 's at the window binding shoes. 

Not a neighbor 
Passing nod or answer will refuse 

To her whisper : 
" Is there from the fishers any news ? " 
Oh, her heart 's adrift with one 
On an endless voyage gone ! 
Night and morning 
Hannah 's at the window bindins: shoes. 



268 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



Fair young Hannah 
Ben, the suu-burnt fisher gayly wooes ; 

Hale and clever, 
For a willing heart and hand he sues. 




POOR LONE HANNAH. 



May-day skies are all aglow, 



For her wedding, 
Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. 



HANNAH BINDING SHOES. 269 

May is passing, — 
Mid the apple-boughs a pigeou cooes. 

Hannah shudders, 
For the wild sou'-wester mischief brews. 
Round the rocks of Marblehead, 
Outward bound, a schooner sped. 
Silent, lonesome, 
Hannah 's at the window binding shoes. 

'T is November : 
Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews. 

From Newfoundland 
Not a sail returning will she lose ; 
Whispering hoarsely, '•' Fishermen, 
Have you, have you heard of Ben I " 
Old with watching, 
Hamiah 's at the window binding shoes. 

Twenty winters 
Bleach and tear the rugged shore she views ; 

Twenty seasons ; — 

Never one has brought her any news. 

Still her dim eyes silently 

Chase the white sails o'er the sea. 

Hopeless, faithful 

Hannah 's at the window binding shoes. 




IPSWICH AND NEWBURY LEGENDS. 




IPSWICH LEGENDS. 



OLD IPSWICH is one of the most delightful comers into 
which the artist or the antiquary could have the good 
f(3rtune to stray, for here either will find ahundant occupation. 
Its physiognomy is old, its atmosphere drowsy, its quiet un- 
broken. The best residences are still the oldest ones, and among 
them are some very quaint specimens of the early Colonial archi- 
tecture, upon which time seems to have made little impression ; 
while here and there others stand up mere crazy hulks, so shaken 
and dilapidated inside and out, that every gale threatens to bring 
them down with a loud crash into the cellars beneath. Some of 
these have the reputation of being haunted houses, and are of 
course enveloped in mystery, — and indeed the whole atmos- 
phere of the place is thick with legendary lore, which the old 
people drop their voices when they are relating. 

To me now there is no more striking picture than that of 
some such crazy old structure, trembling, as the wind shakes it, 
like an old man with the palsy, its windows gaping wide, its 
chimney bent and tottering, the fire on its hearthstone extin- 
guished forever, the path to it overgrown with weeds, the old 
well choked up with rubbish and poisonous ivy, — everything 
expressing irretrievable decay, — standing in the midst of a still 
vigorous orchard just putting forth its sweet perennial bloom, 

18 



274 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

with the fresh and tender grass creeping up to the broken 
threshold, as if Nature claimed admittance, and would not be 
much longer denied. That house, you are told, was built two 
centuries ago. Where are the builders ; and where the genera- 
tions that came after them 1 The old weU-sweep creaks mourn- 
fully in the wind, and points its bony finger to the sky. Yet 
here are the trees that they planted, still putting forth their 
buds, like mortals putting on immortality. 

It is natural, I think, in such a place to try to imagine the 
first-comers looking about them. How did it look ; what did 
they think 1 They were a mere handful, — the apostolic num- 
ber, — a vanguard sent to establish a semi-military post. Upon 
ascending the hill above the river they found an outcropping 
ledge of goodly extent, forming a sort of natural platform, and 
upon this rock they built their church, which subsequently be- 
came so famous throughout the Colony under the successive 
ministrations of Ward, Eogers, ISTorton, and Hubbard, — all 
men eminent for their learning and piety. Satan himself was 
not able to prevail against it ; for upon the smooth ledge out- 
side is still seen the distinct print of his sable majesty's cloven 
foot, when he Avas hurled from the pinnacle to the ground for 
attempting to conceal himself within the sanctuary. 

In another place, down by the river side, the house where 
Harry Main lived is pointed out to the visitor. He having thus a 
local habitation, the legend concerning him is no vagabond tra- 
dition. Harry Main is the Wandering Jew of Ipswich, around 
whom darkly hangs the shadow of an unpardonable crime and 
its fearful doom. It is said that he had been by turns a pirate, 
a smuggler, and a wrecker, who followed the wicked trade of 
building fires on the sands, in order to decoy vessels among 
the breakers, where they were wrecked, and their crews perished 
miserably. For these crimes, at his death he was doomed to be 
chained on Ipswich Bar, the scene of his former murderous ex- 
ploits, and everlastingly to coil a cable of sand there. When 
the cable broke, his demoniacal j^ells of baffled rage could be 
heard for miles around ; and when those fearful sounds an- 



IPSWICH LEGENDS. 



275 



nounced the rising gale, mothers would clasp their babes to their 
breasts, while the men shook their heads and said, " Old Harry 's 
growling again ! " His name was long the bugbear used to 
frighten refractory children into obedience, while the rote on 
the bar, heard in storms, still audibly perpetuates the legend, 
with its roar. 

The old people living on Plum Island used to say that Harry 




PADLOCK AND KEY, IPSWICH JAIL. 

Main's ghost troubled them by wandering about the sand-hills 
on stormy nights, so that they were afraid to venture out of doors 
after dark. Indeed the town itself, in its palmy days, was so 
full of ghostly legends, that certain localities supposed to be 
haunted, were scrupulously avoided by the timid ones, who had 
a mortal dread of being accosted by some vagabond spectre with 
its tale of horror. 

Harry Main's house — for we must remember that he had 



276 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

one — was ransacked, and every rod of the garden dug up for 
the money that he was supposed to have buried there ; but 
nothing rewarded the search. Other places, too, have been ex- 
plored with the same result, in quest of Kidd's hidden treasures. 
One good man dreamed three nights in succession that vast sums 
were buried in a certain hill in the town. He could see the 
very spot. Haunted by the realism of tlie dream, he determined 
to test the matter for himself; and one dark night, just as mid- 
night struck, he took his spade, his lantern, and his Bible, and 
started on his weird errand. Upon reaching the spot he recog- 
nized it as the same that he had seen in his dream. He imme- 
diately fell to work. After plying his spade vigorously a while, 
it struck against some hard object. He now felt sure of his 
prize. Scraping the earth away with feverish haste, he came 
to a flat stone having a bar of iron laid across it. This he 
eagerly grasped with one hand, and was about to turn the stone 
over with the other when he was suddenly surrounded by a troop 
of cats, whose eyeballs blazed in the darkness. The digger felt 
his hair slowly rising on end. A cold sweat stood on his brow. 
Brandishing the bar aloft, he cried out, " Scat ! " when these vig- 
ilant guardians of the treasure vanished in a twinkling, leaving 
the crestfallen money-digger standing up to his middle in cold 
water, which had poured into the hole, when he broke the spell 
by sj)eaking. Half drowned, and wholly disgusted, he crawled 
out of it. The iron bar, however, remained tightly clutched in 
his hand. He carried it home, and I was assured that upon 
going to a certain house in Ipswich I might see the identical 
door-latch which a smith had made out of this bar for a souvenir 
of the night's adventure. 

Such are a few of the many stories which Mr. Morgan has 
picturesquely grouped together in his poem entitled " Old Ips- 
wich Town," — a charming bit of reminiscence, and charmingly 
told. 



OLD IPSWICH TOWN. 277 

OLD IPSWICH TOWN. 

APPLETON MORGAN. 

I LOVE to think of old Ipswich town, 

Old Ipswich town in the East countree, 
Whence, on the tide, you can float down 

Through the long salt grass to the wailing sea. 
Where the " Mayflower " drifted off the bar 

Sea- worn and weary, long years ago, 
And dared not enter, but sailed away 
Till she landed her boats in Plymouth Bay. 

I love to think of old Ipswich town, 

Where Whitefield preached in the church on the hill, 
Driving out the Devil till he leaped down 

From the steeple's top, where they show you stiU, 
Imbedded deep in the solid rock, 

The indelible print of his cloven hoof, 
And tell you the Devil has never shown 
Face or hoof since that day in the honest town. 

I love to think of old Ipswich town. 

Where they shut up the witches until the day 

When they should be roasted so thoroughly brown. 
In Salem Village, twelve miles away ; 

They 've moved it off for a stable now ; 

But there are the holes where the stout jail stood, 

And, at night, they say that over the holes 

You can see the ghost of Goody Coles. 

I love to think of old Ipswich town ; 

Tliat house to your right, a rod or more. 
Where the stern old elm-trees seem to frown 

If you peer too hard through the open door, 
Sheltered the regicide judges three 

When the royal sheriffs were after them, 
And a queer old villager once I met. 
Who says in the cellar they 're living yet. 



278 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

I love to think of old Ipswich town ; 

Harry Main — you have heard the tale — lived there ; 
He blasphemed God, so they put him down 

With an iron shovel, at Ipswich Bar ; 
They chained him there for a thousand years, 

As the sea rolls up to shovel it back ; 
So when the sea cries, the goodwives say 
" Harry Main growls at his work to-day." 




IPSWICH HEADS. 

I love to think of old Ipswich town ; 

There 's a graveyard up on the old High street, 
Where ten generations are looking down 

On the one that is toiling at their feet ; 
Where the stones stand shoulder to shoulder, like troops 

Drawn up to receive a cavalry charge, 
And graves have been dug in graves, till the sod 
Is the mould of good men gone to God. 

I love to think of old Ipswich town, 

Old Ipswich town in the East countree, 
Whence, on the tide, you can float down 

Through the long salt grass to the wailing sea. 
And lie all day on the glassy beach, 

And learn the lesson the green waves teach, 
Till at sunset, from surf and seaweed brown. 
You are pulling back to Ipswich town. 



HEARTBREAK HILL. 279 

Ipswich contains many interesting memorials of its antique 
■worthies and times. In the Old Hill burying-ground on High 
Street may be found incontestable proofs to the rank held by 
some of the founders, in the family arms that are sculptured on 
the ancient tombstones ; but you will not find the gravestone 
of the Reverend William Hubbard, the historian of l^ew Eng- 
land, there, because no one knows the spot where he is buried. 



HEARTBREAK HILL. 

T ITEMING away from the town through unfrequented by- 
lanes, all green and spotted with daisies, let us ascend 
Heartbreak Hill in the southeast corner. The view is certainly 
charming. The reader asks what we see ; and, like one on a 
tower, we reply : In the distance, across a lonely waste of 
marshes, through which glistening tidal streams crawl on their 
bellies among reeds, and sun their glossy backs among sand- 
dunes, we see the bald Ipswich Hundreds, a group of smooth, 
gray-green, desolate-looking hills stretched along the coast. 
They are isolated by these marshes from the mainland, which 
they seem trying to rejoin. Through the openings between 
these hills we catch the glitter of a ragged line of sand-dunes 
heaped up like snow-drifts at the edge of the shore, over which 
rises the sea, and the harbor-bar, overspread with foam. 

It being a clear day, we can see from Cape Ann as far as 
Cape N'eddock, and all that lies or floats between ; but for leagues 
the coast is sad and drear, and from the sand, intrenching it 
everywhere with a natural dyke, the eye turns gratefully 
upon the refreshing sea. Then, as the Maine coast sweeps 
gracefully round to the east, the blue domes of Agamenticus rise 
above it, while the long dark land-line shoots ofi" into the ocean, 
diminishing gradually from the mountain, like a musical phrase 
whose last note we strive to catch long after it has died away. 



280 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Beneath us is a narrow valley through which a river runs 
with speed. The town occupies both banks, which rise into 
considerable eminences above it. All around are the evidences of 
long occupation of the land, — fields that have borne crops, and 
trees that have been growing for centuries ; houses whose steep 
roofs descend almost to the ground ; graveyards whose mossed 
stones lean tins way and that with age. Finally, the traditions 
that we are unwilling to see expire, cast a pleasing glamour ovei 
the place, — something like the shadows which the ancient elms 
fling down upon the hot and dusty roads. 




MEN OF MARK. 



The river shoots through the gray arches of a picturesque 
stone bridge out upon the broad levels of marsh land stretching 
seaward. Through these it loiters quietly along down to the 
sea. At the town it is an eager mill-stream ; at the ocean it is 
as calm as a mill-pond. The tide brings in a few fishing-boats, 
but seldom anything larger ; for it is no longer an avenue of 
commerce, as in bygone days. 

The oldest of Ipswich legends is associated with this hill, and 
accounts for its name ; though the obscurity surrounding its ori- 
gin baffles any attempt to trace it to an authentic source. The 
name is however f.)und upon the earliest records of the town, 
and it is probably as old as the settlement, which was begun 




4^-'^ 2^' 9 ''"■" ^^^^ 



THE maiden's watch. 



282 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

by the Avhites in 1635 as a check to the expected encxoachments 
of Cardinal Richelieu's colony, then established in Acadia. But 
before this, we know, from Captain Smith, that the place was 
the most populous Indian settlement in all Massachusetts Bay, 
it being the seat of a powerful sagamore, and known by its In- 
dian name of Agawam. That a few white people were living 
among the Indians here previous to 1635 is evident from the 
tenor of one of the first recorded acts of the new Colony, dated 
September 7, 1630, commanding those that were planted at 
Agawam forthwith to come away. It is perhaps to this early 
time that the legend of Heartbreak Hill refers, since it is known 
that the Agawams were a docile and hospitable people, who 
welcomed the coming of the English among them with open 
arms ; and it is also known that the place was more or less 
frequented by the English fishing-ships. 

Briefly, the legend relates the romantic story of an Indian 
maiden who fell in love with a white sailor, and upon his sailing 
for a distant land, she used to climb this hill and pass her days 
sitting upon the summit watching for his return. But the 
months and years passed without bringing any tidings of him. 
He never did come back ; and still the deserted one watched and 
waited, until she pined away, and at length died of a broken 
heart. There is a ledge on the summit where the Indian girl 
sat watching for her lover's return ; and when she died, her lonely 
grave was made by the side of it. By others the legend is dif- 
ferently related. Some say that as the girl one day wended her 
way wearily to the top of the hill, she saw her lover's vessel 
making the desperate attempt to gain the port in the height of 
a violent gale. But it drove steadily on among the breakers, 
and was dashed to pieces and swallowed up before her eyes. 
In her poem Mrs. Thaxter adopts the former version, which, if 
less tragic, appeals in a more subtle way to our sympathies. 
In any case the hill has become a monument to faithful aflTec- 
tion, and as such is the favorite resort of lovers in all the 
country round. 



HEARTBREAK HILL. 283 

HEAETBREAK HILL. 

CELIA THAXTER. 

In Ipswich town, not far from the sea, 
Rises a hill which the people call 

Heartbreak Hill, and its history- 
Is an old, old legend, known to aU. 

It was a sailor who won the heart 

Of an Indian maiden, lithe and young ; 
And she saw him over the sea depart. 

While sweet in her ear his promise rung ; 

For he cried, as he kissed her wet eyes dry, 

" I '11 come back, sweetheart ; keep your faith ! " 

She said, " I will watch while the moons go by." 
Her love was stronger than life or death. 

So this poor dusk Ariadne kept 

Her watch I'rom the hill-top rugged and steep ; 
Slowly the enij^ty moments crept 

While she studied the changing face of the deep, 

Fastening her eyes upon every speck 

That crossed the ocean within her ken ; 
Might not her lover be walking the deck, 

Surely and swiftly returning again ? 

The Isles of Shoals loomed, lonely and dim, 

In the northeast distance far and gray, 
And on the horizon's uttermost rim 

The low rock heap of Boone Island lay. 

Oh, but the weary, merciless days, 

With the sun above, with the sea afar, — 

No change in her fixed and wistful gaze 
From the morning- red to the evening star! 



284 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Like a slender statue carved of stone 
She sat, with hardly motion or breath. 

She wept no tears and she made no moan, 
But her love was stronger than life or death. 

He never came back ! Yet, faithful still, 
She watched from the hill-top her life away. 

And the townsfolk christened it Heartbreak Hill, 
And it bears the name to this very day. 



NEWBURYPORT LEGENDS: 

LET us stroll a little about the city of Newburyport and its 
charming environs. 
Upon leaving Ipswich the landscape grows less austere. The 
flat Rowley marslies succeed the rocky pastures and tumbling 
hills, with their stiffly-upright cedars and their shut-in vistas, like 
a calm after a storm. Then we glide on among haycocks, stand- 
ing up out of the inflowing tide, across the beautiful and peace- 
ful prairie of Old Newbury, and are suddenly brought up by a 
ridge of high land, lifting its green wall between us and the 
basin of the Merrimack. At the right, thrust up through the 
tops of the elm-trees that hide the village, like a spear tipped 
with gold, 

springs the village spire 
With the crest of its cock in the sun afire. 

That is old Newbury meeting-house. Extending now far 
along the slopes of the ridge as we approach it, are the city 
cemeteries, whose mingled gray and white monuments throng 
the green swells, ■ — a multitude of spectators turned into stone. 
Then, cutting through the ridge, the train plunges into the 
darkness of a tunnel, soon emerging again upon the farther 
slope among the city streets from which the broad wdiite sheet 
of the Merrimack is seen moving steadily out to sea. One side 



NEWBURYPORT LEGENDS. 



285 



of these heights then is appropriated by the living, the other 
by the dead. 

The most remarkable and fascinating object in the landscape 
now is the river. 

The Eiver Merrimack, when near the end of its long course, 
expands into a noble basin enclosed within the sweep of pictur- 
esquely grouped and broken highlands. It is here every inch a 
river, broad, deep, clear, and sparkling. On one side are the 




BEACOK, SALISBUKY POINT. 



hills of Amesbury and Salisbury, on tlie other side the city of 
Newburyport rises from the curved shore to the summit of the 
ridge, crowned with trees and spiked with steeples. 

Down below the city and toward the sea all this changes. 
The high shores drop into fens, marshes, and downs. A long, 
low island thrusts itself half across the channel and blockades it. 
Beyond this again the sea breaks heavily on the low bar outside, 
and the river disappears in a broken line of foam. 

One loving and reverential hand has stamped all this region 
with the impress of his genius, and so has made all the world 



*286 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

partakers of his own feeliug for the famihar scenes he describes. 
Amesbury is Whittier's home, the Merrimack his unfaihug 
theme. Here are his surroundings : — 

Stream of my fathers ! sweetly still 
The sunset rays thy valley fill ; 
Poured slantwise down the long defile, 
Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. 
I see the winding Powow fold 
The green liill in its belt of gold. 
And following down its Avavy line. 
Its sparkling waters blend witli thine. 
There 's not a tree ujjon thy side. 
Nor rock which thy returning tide 
As yet hath left abrupt and stark 
Above thy evening water-mark, 

But lies distinct and full in sight, 
Beneath this gush of sununer light. 

In the same spirit, which by a sort of poetic alcliemy seems 
capable of converting the waste sands of the seashore into grains 
of gold, Mrs. Spofford has described the approaches to the river 
through the flat lagoons that furnish a circulation to tlie marshes. 

We floated in the idle breeze, 

With all our sails a- shiver : 
The shining tide came softly through, 

And filled Plum Island River. 

And clear the flood of silver swung 

Between the brimming edges ; 
And now the depths were dark, and now 

The boat slid o'er the sedges. 

And here a yellow sand-spit foamed 

Amid the great sea-meadows ; 
And here the slumberous waters gloomed 

Lucid in emerald shadows. 



NEWBURYPORT LEGENDS. 287 

Around the sunny distance rose 

A blue and hazy highland, 
And winding down our winding way 

The sand-hills of Plum Island. 

From the domain of poetry we pass easily into that of history. 

Mr. John Quincy Adams once described Siberia as being cele- 
brated for its malefactors and malachite. Some one, in an epi- 
grammatic vein, has summed up Newburyport as being famous 
for piety and privateering ; and the analogy seems established 
when one turns to the History of Newbury written by Whittier's 
old schoolmaster, Joshua Coffin, and reads there that the pri- 
vateersmen on putting to sea were accustomed to request the 
prayers of the churches for the success of the cruise, — to which 
petition all those having a share in the voyage responded with a 
hearty amen. 

Newburyport, then, is a city built upon a bill. One reads its 
history as he walks. Like Salem, it rose and flourished through 
its commerce ; but when that failed, the business of the place had 
to be recast in a wholly different mould, and its merchants be- 
came spinners and weavers, instead of shipowners and ship- 
builders. It now seems trying rather awkwardly to adapt itself 
to the changes that the last half-century has brought about, — 
changes emphasized by the tenacity with which the old people 
clin- to the traditions that are associated with its former pros- 
perity, and gave it a prestige that mills and factories can no 
longer maintain. 

The waterside street begins at a nest of idle shipyards, winds 
with the river along a line of rusty wharves, where colliers take 
the place of Indiamen, and ends with the antiquated suburb of 
Joppa, — which at least retains some of the flavor of a seaport, 
it having a population that gets its living by fishing, piloting, or 
doing such odd jobs as watermen can pick up along shore. 
From here the sails of a vessel that is nearing the port can be- 
seen gliding along over the sand-drifts of Plum Island or Salis- 
bury Beach. Joppa is crowded with houses, but it is torpid. 



288 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

This long street leaves us at OlJtown, the parent settlement 
here, whose church spire we saw at a distance. It is narrow, 
irregular, and untidy ; but High Street, the avenue laid out along 
the top of the ridge, and extending from Oldtown Green to 
the Chain Bridge over the Merrimack, is a thoroughfare one 
does not often see equalled, even if he has travelled far and seen 
much. 

Here, upon the cool brow of the ridge, are the stately homes 
of the wealthy citizens ; here the old merchants, who amassed 
fortunes in West India rum and sugar in little stuffy counting- 
rooms on the wharves below, lived like princes in the great 
roomy mansions whose Avindows overlooked all the town, the 
silvery course of the river, and the surrounding country for 
miles up and down. Altliough they are now sadly out of date, 
and of such size as to suggest that a blow of the hospitable 
knocker would fiU them with echoes, there is an air of gentility 
and of good living about all these houses which makes us feel 
regret for the generation whose open-handed hospitality has 
passed into a tradition ; while the mansions themselves, grown 
venerable, continue to unite two wholly dissimilar eras. 

Usually there was an observatory on the roof, from which the 
owner could sweep the offing with his glass of a morning, and 
could run over in his mind the chance of a voyage long before 
his vessel had wallowed over the bar outside. He might then 
descend, take his cocked hat and cane from the hall-table, order 
dinner, with an extra cover for his captain, pull out his shirt-frill, 
and go down to his counting-house without a wrinkle on his 
brow or a crease in his silk stockings ; everybody would know 
that his ship had come in. Sound in head and stomach, bluff of 
speech, yet with a certain homely dignity always distinguishing 
his class, the merchant of the olden time, undoubted autocrat to 
his immediate circle of dependants, was a man whose like we 
shall not look upon again. He left no successors. 

During the two wars with England, a swarm of privateers, 
as well as some of the most famous vessels of the old, the invin- 
cible, navy, were launched here. In 1812 the port suffered as long 



NEWBURYPOKT LEGENDS. 289 

and rigorous a blockade from the enemy's cruisers, as it had 
before been nearly paralyzed by Mr. Jelferson's embargo. Then 
the mercliant had ruin staring him in the face whenever he lev- 
elled his glass at the two and three deckers exchanging signals 
in the ofl&ng, or when he paced up and down his grass-grown 
wharves, where his idle ships rusted; but if he did sometimes 
shut his glass with an angry jerk, or stamp his foot to say, be- 
tween an oath and a groan, " Our masts take root, bud forth too, 
and beare akornes ! " he was never found wanting in patriotism, 
nor did he show a niggardly or a craven spirit in the face of 
his reverses, so that the record of the Tracys, the Daltons, the 
Browns, is one of which their descendants are justly proud. 
Still, it was not thought to be a sinful thing in those days for 
the clergy to pray that a change of rulers might remove the 
embargo, or that a stiff gale of wind would raise the blockade, 
— the means to this end being left to the wisdom of an over- 
ruling Providence. 

For the stranger, however, there are but two things in New- 
buryport for which he asks the first person he meets. One is 
the tomb of George Whitefield, and the other is the mansion of 
Lord Timothy Dexter. One is in a quiet and unpretending 
neighborhood; the other stands in the higli places of the city. 
Two objects more diverse by their associations, two lives more 
opposite in their aspirations, it would be difficult to conceive of, 
yet here the memories of the two men jostle each other. Truly 
it is only a step from the sublime to the ridiculous. 

The number of pilgrims who visit the tomb of Whitefield is 
very large. The great itinerant preacher is buried in a vault 
that is entered by a door underneath the pulpit of the Old South 
Presbyterian meeting-house, in Federal Street. Its slender and 
modest spire, Avith its brazen weathercock, rises above a neigh- 
borhood no longer fashionable, perhaps, but quite in keeping 
with its own severe simplicity. Neither belongs to the present. 
The house has the date 1756 over the entrance-door, and is built 
of wood. At the left of the pulpit, as we enter, is a marble 
cenotaph erected to the memory of Whitefield, one face of which 

19 



290 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



bears a long eulogistic inscrijjtion. Descending into the crypt, 
whose sepulchral darkness a lamp dimly lights, we are alone 
with its silent inmates. Yonder dark object presently shapes 
itself into a bier. We approacli it. The coffin-lid is thrown 
open, so as to expose what is left of its tenant, — the fleshless 
skull and bones of George Whitelield. It is not forbidden 




WIIITEFIELD S MONUilENT. 



to shudder. Who, indeed, that looks can believe that " there, 
Whitefield, pealed thy voice " 1 

Owing, doubtless, to the fact that many come to gratify an idle 
curiosity, the trustees have closed the tomb "for a spell," as the 



NEWBURYPORT LEGENDS. 291 

old sextun remarked, with too evident vexation for the loss of 
his fees for showing it to visitors. It is a curious instance of 
vandalism that one of the arm-bones should have been surrep- 
titiously taken from the coffin, and after having twice crossed 
the ocean, have found its way back to its original resting-place. 
The story goes that an ardent admirer of the eloquent preacher, 
who wished to obtain some relic of him, gave a commission to a 
friend for the purpose, and this friend, it is supposed, procured 
the limb through the connivance of the sexton's son. The act 
of desecration being, however, discovered, aroused so much indig- 
nation everywhere, that the possessor thought it best to relin- 
quish his prize ; and he accordingly intrusted it to a shipmaster, 
with the injunction to see it again safely placed in the vault 
with his own eyes, — which direction was strictly carried out. 
" And I," finished the sexton, " have been down in the tomb 
■with the captain who brought that ar' bone back," But this all 
happened many years ago. 

This neighborhood is further interesting as being the birth- 
place of William Lloyd Garrison, whose dwelling is the first on 
the left in School Street, while the next is that in which White- 
field died of an attack of asthma. The extraordinary religious 
awakening that followed his preaching is one of the traditions 
common to all our New-England seaboard towns, the houses 
where he stopped being always pointed out ; so that everywhere 
Whitetield has a monument. A missionary who crossed tlie 
ocean fourteen times, an evangelist who preached more than 
eighteen thousand sermons, and whose audiences were so nume- 
rous that he was compelled to hold his meetings in the open air, 
was no ordinary man. To this exposure of himself his death is 
attributed. It caused a deep sensation ; and so much had the pub- 
lic estimate of him changed, that there was even a contention for 
the honor of possessing his remains, which now lie in the place 
where he was stoned when he first attempted to preach in it. 
Such is the retribution that time brings. When this cowardly 
assault nearly struck the Bible from his hand, the man who al- 
ways had an answer for everything, holding up the book, said 



292 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

with calm dignity, but in a voice that went through his hearers 
Hke an electric shock : "I Jjave a Avarraut from God to preach : 
his seal is in my hand, and I stand in the King's highway." 



LORD TIMOTHY DEXTER. 

TIMOTHY DEXTER was not born great, neither did he 
have greatness thrust upon him ; yet so effectually does 
he seem to have thrust his quasi-greatness upon Newburyport, 
that even now, after the lapse of nearly fourscore years, count- 
ing from the time when he laid his eccentricities in the dust, as 
all lords, sooner or later, must do, the stranger visiting Newbury- 
port asks first to be guided to the spot where the renowned Lord 
Timothy lived in most uurepublican state. 

Timothy Dexter was not a native of Newburyport. Maiden 
has the honor of being his birthplace ; and the family still exists 
there, a branch of it having occupied one estate for more t]ian 
two hundred years. Although bred to the tanner's trade, Timo- 
thy was far too shrewd to hide his talents in a vat. He saw 
easier avenues to wealth opening before him ; and with a forecast 
which would make any merchant's fortune, he bought and sold 
in the way of trade until he had accumulated a snug capital 
for future speculations. 

Having " put money in his purse," Timothy Dexter became 
ambitious ; believing that a golden key would admit him within 
the circles of the aristocracy. Then, as now, Newburyport was 
the seat of culture, refinement, and literature ; and it was there- 
fore to Newburyport that the titled tanner now turned his eyes. 
He found in its picturesque precincts two mansion houses avail- 
able for his purpose, and these he purchased. He first occupied 
one situated on State Street ; but having soon sold this at a 
profit, he removed to the well-known estate situated on High 
Street, thenceforth making it, through an odd perversion of its 
real character, one of the historic mansions of Essex County. 



294 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Vain to excess, he longed for the adulation which a certain class 
of people are always ready to lavish upon the possessors of great 
wealth. 

He now began the work of renovation which transformed the 
sober mansion of his predecessor into a liarlequinade in wood. 
By his directions the painters adorned the outside a brilliant 
white, trimmed with green. Minarets were built upon the roof, 
in the centre of wliich rose a lofty cujjola surmounted by a 
gilded eagle with outspread wings. Standing as it did upon 
the crown of the hill, the house could be seen for miles around, 
and soon became a landmark for mariners. But the great and 
unique display was made in the garden fronting this house. 

There then was working at his trade in the town a skilful 
ship-carver named Wilson, whom Dexter employed to carve 
from tlje solid wood some forty gigantic statues of the most 
■celebrated men of the period. Gladly did the sculptor accept 
and execute this order, for it enabled him to lay the foundation 
of a small fortune, and to acquire a lasting reputation among 
his townsmen for his workmanship. These images wore about 
eight feet in height. With conscientious fidelity to fact and 
fitness, the carved clothing was painted to resemble that worn 
by the real personages, — blue coats, white shirts, buff breeches, 
and the rest, — altogether making a display which no museum 
in the country could equal. Over the main entrance to the 
house, on a beautiful arch, stood George Washington, with John 
Adams, bareheaded, at his right hand ; for Dexter said that no 
one should stand covered on the riglit hand of his greatest hero. 
General Washington. On the left was Thomas Jefferson, lioLl- 
ing in his hand a scroll inscribed " Constitution." But my 
Lord Timothy, it is said, in spite of the painter's objections, 
insisted upon spelling the name of the Sage of Monticello, 
"Tomas," instead of Thomas, finally threatening to shoot the 
artist on the spot if he persisted in his refusal to do what was 
required of him. 

The man who had planned and created this garden of statues 
was as capricious as fame itself. If he raised a statue to some 



LORD TIMOTHY DEXTER. 295 

favorite to-day, he reserved the right to change his name to- 
morrow ; and often a stroke of the painter's brush transformed 
statesmen into soldiers, or soldiers into civilians. General Mor- 
gan yesterday was Bonaparte to-day, to whom Dexter always 
paid the civility of touching his hat when he passed underneath 
the great Corsican's shadow. In the panels of the entablatures 
of each of the columns on which these images stood were the 
names of the characters represented. Among them were Gov- 
ernor John Langdon of Xew Hampshire, Governor Caleb Strong 
of Massachusetts, Eufus King, General Butler of South Caro- 
lina, General Knox, John Jay, John Hancock, William Pitt, 
Louis XVI., King George, Lord Nelson, and the Indian Chief, 
Corn Planter. There was also one allegorical figure representing 
Maternal Affection, and another a Travelling Preacher, besides 
several enormous lions occupying pedestals. Dexter himself 
monopolized two statues. One of these stood near the door, 
holding in its hand a placard, which was inscribed, " I am first 
in the East, the first in the West, and the Greatest Philosopher 
in the known world." The cost of these images, with the col- 
umns on which they were placed, is said to have been fifteen 
thousand dollars. This was the only way, however, in which 
Lord Timothy was able to bring himself into association with 
greatness. Society refused him recognition with the same hard 
obduracy that his own wooden images did, his vulgarity and 
ignorance being too gross even for all his gold to gild ; and so 
he lived only among sycophants and parasites, who cajoled and 
flattered him to his heart's content. 

Having a house and grounds wliich he flattered himself would 
make his stuck-up neighbors split with envy. Dexter next re- 
solved to set up an equipage fit for a lord ; and one suiting his 
ideas of magnificence was accordingly procured. Some one 
having told him that the carriages of the nobility were always 
decorated with a coat of arms, one was composed on demand 
and painted on tlie panel. The crest may have been a dexter 
arm brandishing a warming-pan, with the motto, " By this I 
got ye." 



296 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

In the matter of horses Dexter was extremely fastidious, as 
well as capricious. As soon as he grew tired of one c<jlor, he 
would sell those he had just bought at extravagant prices, and 
buy others. His costly carriage, drawn by beautiful cream-col- 
ored animals, became one of the sights of the day whenever 
the owner chose to take an airing; but to the luxury of the 
equipage the gaunt and mean face, half buried underneath an 
enormous cocked-hat, the spare figure sitting bolt upright, the 
hairless dog sqiiatted beside it, offered a contrast as strikingly 
ridiculous as did the coach of the celebrated Tittlebat-Titmouse, 
and it provoked quite as much laughter when it passed through 
the town, the street urchins shouting ironically, " Clear the way 
for my lord's carriage ! " 

In this coach Dexter once drove in state to the county prison 
at Ipswich, where he served a short sentence for firing his pistol 
at a countryman who stood staring at his museum of celebrities, 
and who did not move on when my Lord Timothy commanded 
him. 

But this singular being did not consider his establishment as 
complete without the entourage of a nobleman in the days of 
chivalry. He would again revive the age of poets and trouba- 
dours. Perhaps the most unique idea of all was the engage- 
ment of a poet-laureate to write his praises and to embalm his 
memory in verse. There happened to be living in Newbury- 
port one Jonathan Plummer, an eccentric pedler of fish, who 
had a penchant for extempore rhyming which with the igno- 
rant and illiterate passed for genius. A bargain was forth- 
with struck with him to serve in the capacity of poet-laureate, 
and as such he was presently installed in Dexter's household. 
A handsome new livery was ordered, consisting of a fine black 
broadcloth coat, with stars on the collar and fringe on the skirts, 
shoes with large silver buckles, a cocked-hat, and a gold-headed 
cane. One of Plummer's poems to his patron, comprising about 
fifteen verses, has been preserved entire. The following is a 
specimen : — 



LORD TIMOTHY DEXTER. 297 

Lord Dexter is a man of fame, 

Most celebrated is his name, 

More precious far than gold that 's pure : 

Lord Dexter shine forever more ! 

His house is white and trimmed with green ; 
For many miles it may be seen ; 
It shines as bright as any star ; 
The fame of it has spread afar. 

Lord Dexter, like King Solomon, 
Hath gold and silver by the ton ; 
And bells to churches he hath given, 
To worship the great King of Heaven. 

Not content with all this, Dexter's ambition now aimed at 
nothing less than literary fame ; and this was achieved at a 
stroke by the publication of his " Pickle for the Knowing 
Ones," — an autobiography which has ever since puzzled those 
to whom it was addressed, to decide whether the author was 
really more knave or fool. But as the first, and probably the 
last, example of the kind, the " Pickle " had immediate success, 
altliough in every way it is a most grotesque libel upon the 
good name of literary composition. The spelling is atrocious, 
and there was no attempt at punctuation ; but the author's 
invention supplied this defect in a second edition, by inserting 
a page or more of punctuation-marks at the end, with the fol- 
lowing note : — 

" Mister printer the Nowing ones complane of my book the fust 
edition had no stops I put in A Nuf here and they may peper and 
salt it as they plese." 

But this odd notion hardly originated with Dexter, original 
as he unquestionably was, inasmuch as Tom Hood has an account 
in his " Reminiscences " of a literary friend who placed a num- 
ber of colons, semicolons, etc., at the bottom of his communi- 
cation, adding. 

And these are my points that I place at the foot, 
That }'on may put stops that I can't stop to put. 



298 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



Dexter's unique speculation in warming-pans, told by himself 
in the " Pickle," has perhaps done more to transmit his n^me to 
posterity than anything else. By some people the story is con- 
sidered as nothing short of a pure fab- 
rication, designed for those inquisitive 
people who were continually asking 
how Dexter made his money. But 
even if the story is too good to be 
true, — and as a merchant his shrewd- 
ness was proverbial, — the world has 
accepted it upon his own testimony 
as the lucky blunder of fortune's favor- 
ite and fool. The man being him- 
self an enigma, we should say that 
in his case it is the improbable that 
is true. 

He relates that, having dreamed three 
nights running that warming-pans 
would do well in the West Indies, 
he collected " no more than forty-two 
thousand," which were put on board 
nine vessels bound to different ports, 
and cleared him seventy-nine per cent. 
The story goes that one of Dexter's captains, being a shrewd fel- 
low, took off the covers of the pans, which were then sold to the 
sugar-planters, all of whom were anxious to obtain them for 
ladles. 

Dexter's speculations in whalebone and Bibles were equally 
comical and absurd. Again he dreamed "that the good book 
was run down in this country so low as half price, and dull at 
that. I had," he says, " the ready cash by wholesale. I bought 
twenty-one thousand. I put them into twenty-one vessels for 
the West Indies, and sent as a text that all of them must have 

one Bible in each family, or they would go to ." 

Besides putting faith in dreams. Dexter believed in fortune- 
telling as well as fortune-making, and made many attempts to 




WAEMING-PAN. 



LOED TIMOTHY DEXTER. 



299 



pry into the olDSCurity of the future by consulting the oracle 
of his neighborhood, one Madam Hooper, — a strange character, 




LOUD TIMOTHY DEXTER. 

who, after teaching school, assumed the profession of fortune- 
telling. - The renowned Moll Pitcher also had Dexter for a 
patron, and her influence is said to have been beneficial to him. 



300 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Another person who is said to have exerted a great influence 
for good over this eccentric man was a negress named Lucy Lan- 
caster, — a female of Amazonian proportions, who is described as 
being possessed of unusual shrewdness and information. Her 
father, called Csesar, Avas the son of an African king, and was 
brought to the country as a slave. So highly was he esteemed, 
that on '•■■ Nigger 'Lection Day " Lucy's father acted as general- 
issimo, and was entitled to have twelve footmen run by his side, 
while he proudly bestrode a spirited horse at the head of the 
sooty procession. 

When the yellow fever raged in Xewburyport in 1796, Lucy 
Lancaster proved herself indeed of royal blood. Strong and 
fearless, full of good works, she devoted herself day and night to 
the sick, principally in the families of the best people ; Dexter, 
among others, having need of her services, she became a firm 
friend and counsellor to the family. Her estimate of Dexter 
was much higher than the common one, and she gave him credit 
for more honesty of purpose than most people did. He needed 
some one like her to advise him, and she frequently turned his 
attention from mischievous pursuits by suggesting alterations 
and impi'ovements to be made in his house and grounds. This 
woman survived Dexter nearly forty years. 

One of the oddest of Dexter's freaks was his mock funeral, 
which was arranged by him with all the solemnity of prepara- 
tion requisite for a real interment. In his garden he had caused 
to be built a spacious tomb, while in his house he had long kept 
a costly coftin made of mahogany, richly adorned. 

With a curiosity perhaps unprecedented in the history of vain 
man, he wished to see the effect his funeral would produce. Invi- 
tations were issued, mourning apparel was prepared for his family, 
some one was found to officiate as minister, and the procession 
was duly formed, and marched to the vault in the garden. While 
this farce was performing, Dexter was looking from an upper win- 
dow, and before the company had dispersed, he was found beat- 
ing his wife for not shedding tears at his pretended demise. 

Of his conjugal relations, it is reported by one who knew him 



THE OLD ELM OF NEWBUKY. 301 

well, that, becoming dissatistied with his wife, he made a bargain 
with her to leave him, giving her a thousand, or perhaps two 
thousand, dollars in exchange for his liberty. He then adver- 
tised for another wife ; but there being no applicant, he, after 
waiting some time, was glad to hire his own wife to come back 
by the oifer of a sum equal to that he had originally giveii her 
to go away. 

On the 26th of October, 1806, Lord Dexter died at his man- 
sion on High Street. His funeral was an occasion which it 
would have pleased him to witness, if such sights could be per- 
mitted to vain mortals ; but as the town officers would not, for 
sanitary reasons, allow his remains to be deposited in his garden 
tomb, he was laid away among his fellow townsmen in the 
public burying-ground near the frog-pond. 

ISTot long after his death a gale blew down many of the 
images, and the place grew dilapidated. About the year 1846, 
while it was being used as a factory boarding-house, the estate 
was purchased by E. G. Kelley, of Newburyport, who possessed 
wealth and taste, and he proceeded to obliterate as far as pos- 
sible all traces of his predecessor's follies. The three presidents 
over the door were thrown down and demolished ; the grounds 
were newly laid out ; and now nothing except the eagle on the 
summit of the cupola remains to show Dexter's bizarre achieve- 
ments in ornamentation, or to point a moral upon his extrava- 
gances as a philosopher. 



THE OLD ELM OF NEWBURY. 

ON Parker Street, in Old Newbury, just out of the village, 
there is still growing the gigantic elm-tree that is known 
far and wide as the old elm of Newbury. Coffin says that 
it was transplanted and set out here by Eichard Jaques in 
1713, so that it has now been growing on this spot one hun- 



302 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



dred and seventy years. Its girth is enormous, being twenty- 
four and one half feet at one foot from the ground. Now that 
the historic old elm of Boston is no more, this is undoubtedly 
the largest tree of its species in New England. 

Yet older than the tree are some of the houses in the neigh- 
borhood — 

Old homesteads, sacred to all that can 
Gladden or sadden the heart of man ; 

and still older are the corroded stones in the village churchyard 
that overlooks the broad estuary of the river, and is washed by 
the pond of the floating island below it. Legendary lore clings 
around these aged houses like the mistletoe to the oak, and lends 
its charm to the mystery that overshadows them. 




THE OLD ELM OF NEWBTJIIY. 



THE OLD ELM OF NEWBURY. 303 

In a pretty pastoral legend Miss Hannah Gould gives the 
origin of the old elm, and incidentally, also, an engaging picture 
of the farm life of those early times with which the legend 
itself is associated. 



THE OLD ELM OF I^EWBURY. 

H. P. GOULD. 

Did it ever come in your way to pass 
The silvery pond, with its fringe of grass, 
And threading the lane hard hy to see 
The veteran elm of Newbury ? 

Well, that old elm that is now so grand 

Was once a twig in the rustic hand 

Of a youthful peasant, who went one night 

To visit his love by the tender light 

Of the modest moon and her twinkhng host ; 

While the star that lighted his bosom most, 

And gave to his lonely feet their speed. 

Abode in a cottage beyond the mead. 

It is not recorded how long he stayed 
In the cheerful house of the smiling maid. 
But when he came out it was late and dark 
And silent ; not even a dog would bark 
To take from his feeling of loneliness, 
And make the length of his way seem less. 

An elm grew close by the cottage's eaves, 

So he plucked him a twig well clothed with leaves. 

So, sallying forth, with the supple arm 

To serve as a talisman parrying harm. 

He felt that, though his heart was big, 

'T was even stouter for having the twig ; 

For this, he thought, would answer to switch 

The horrors away, as he crossed the ditch, 



304 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

The meadow and cojjse, wherein, perchance, 
Will-o'-the-wisp might wickedly dance ; 
And, wielding it, keep him from having a chill 
At the menacing sound of " Whippoorwill ! " 
And his flesh from creeping beside the bog 
At the harsh bass voice of the viewless frog ; 
In short, he felt that the switch would be 
Guard, plaything, business, and company. 

When he got safe home, and joyfully found 

He still was himself, and living, and sound, 

He planted the twig by his family cot, 

To stand as a monument, marking the spot 

It helped him to reach ; and, what was still more, 

Because it had grown by his fair one's door. 

The twig took root ; and, as time flew by, 
Its boughs spread wide, and its head grew high ; 
While the priest's good service had long been done, 
Which made the youth and the maiden one ; 
And their young scions arose and played 
Around the tree in its leafy shade. 



THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEWALL. 

THIS piece, so full of the milk of human kindness, was 
written to disprove the opinion advanced by the Simple 
Cobbler and others, to whom it is at once a rebuke and an 
answer, that it was impossible to subsist in New England by 
the labor of one's hands alone. It is found in Sewall's " New 
Heaven upon the New Earth." So quaintly is it expressed, that 
only the original language can fitly set forth the picture of pros- 
perous abundance that so gladdened the good old man's eyes 
when looking down upon it from the Newbury hills. Eetain- 



THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEWALL. 305 

ing this as much as possible, Mr. Whittier has phrased it in 
poetic form that is singularly like the prose version. 

This, let us say, is the same Samuel Sewall who, as one of 
the witchcraft judges, gained a lasting notoriety, and whose 
marriage to Hannah, the daughter of Mint-master John Hull, 
originated the tradition that she received her own weight in 
silver Pine-Tree shillings as a wedding portion. The family 
has always held a distinguished place in the annals of Colony 
and State ; and Sewall's remarkable " Diary," to which we 
have before referred, is a storehouse of information concern- 
ing the events and manners of his time. The prophecy is as 
follows : — 

"As long as Plum Island shall faithfully keep the commanded 
Post, Notwithstanding the hectoring words and hard blows of the 
proud and boisterous ocean ; As long as any Salmon or Sturgeon 
shall swim in the streams of Merrimack, or any Perch or Pickeril in 
Crane Pond ; As long as the Sea Fowl shall know the time of their 
coming, and not neglect seasonably to visit the places of their acquaint- 
ance ; As long as any Cattel shall be fed with the Grass growing in 
the meadows which doe humbly bow themselves before Turkie Hill ; 
As long as any Sheep shall walk upon Old-town Hills, and shall from 
thence pleasantly look down upon the River Parker and the fruitful 
Marishes lying beneath ; As long as any free and harmless Doves 
shall find a White Oak or other Tree within the township to perch, 
or feed, or build a careless Nest upon, and shall volimtarily present 
themselves to perform the oflBce of Gleaners after Barley Harvest ; 
As long as Nature shall not grow old and dote, but shall constantly 
remember to give the rows of Indian Corn their education by Pairs, 
— So long shall Christians be born there ; and being first made meet, 
shall from thence be translated to be made partakers of the Saints of 
Light." 

PEOPHECY OF SAMUEL SEWALL. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

I SEE it all like a chart unrolled, 
But ni)' thoughts are full of the past and old ; 
I hear the tales of my boyhood told, 
20 



306 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

And the shadows and shapes of early days 

Flit dimly by in the veiling haze, 

With measured movement and rhythmic chime 

Weaving like shuttles my web of rhyme. 

I think of the old man wise and good 

Who once on yon misty hillsides stood, 

(A poet who never measured rhyme, 

A seer unknown to his dull-eared time.) 

And, propped on his staff of age, looked down, 

With his boyhood's love, on his native town. 

Where, written, as if on its hills and plains. 

His burden of prophecy yet remains, 

For the voices of wood, and wave, and wind 

To read in the ear of the musing mind : — 

"As long as Plum Island, to guard the coast, 
As God appointed, shall keep its post ; 
As long as a salmon shall haunt the deep 
Of Merrimack River, or sturgeon leap ; 
As long as pickerel, swift and slim. 
Or red-backed perch, in Crane Pond swim ; 
As long as the annual sea-fowl know 
Their time to come and their time to go ; 
As long as cattle shall roam at will 
The green grass meadows by Turkey Hill ; 
As long as sheep shall look from the side 
Of Oldtown Hill on marishes wide, 
And Parker River, and salt-sea tide ; 
As long as a wandering pigeon shall search 
The fields below from his white-oak perch. 
When the barley-harvest is ripe and shorn. 
And the dry husks fall from the standing corn ; 
As long as Nature shall not grow old, 
Nor drop her work from her doting hold. 
And her care for the Indian corn forget. 
And the yellow rows in pairs to set, — 
So long shall Christians here be born. 
Grow up and ripen as God's sweet corn, — 
By the beak of bird, by the breath of frost, 
Shall never a holy ear be lost, 



THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE. 307 

But, husked by Death, in the Planter's sight, 
Be sown again in the fiekis of light ! " 

The Island still is j)urple with plums, 

Up the river the salmon comes, 

The sturgeon leaps, and the wild-fowl feeds 

On hillside berries and marish seeds, — 

All the beautiful signs remain. 

From spring-time sowing to autumn rain 

The good man's vision returns again ! 

And let us hope, as well we can. 

That the Silent Angel who garners man 

May find some grain as of old he found 

In the human cornfield ripe and sound, 

And tiie Lord of the Harvest deign to own 

The precious seed by the fathers sown ! 



THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE. 

/^NE does not go far into the history of our legendary lore 
V-/ without making the discovery that Cotton Mather's study, 
like that of his father before him, was the congenial receptacle 
for everything that might happen in New England out of the 
common. Upon this centre the dark tales converged like a 
flight of bats in the night. His father had solicited the New- 
England ministers to contribute everything of a marvellous 
character that might come within their knowledge or under 
their observation, to the end that the mysterious workings of 
Providence might if possible be cleared up, and the relation to 
human afiairs, — which it was not for a moment doubted they 
sustained, — be so adjusted as to point a moral or adorn a tale. 
To this sagacious foresight we owe that singularly interesting 
book, the "Eemarkable Providences," of Increase Mather. To 
this we also owe the Double-Headed Snake of :Nrewbury, — a 
reptile that would certainly have made the fortune of any itine- 



308 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



rant showman of our own period, have put the four-legged girl 
completely into the shade, and have caused the devil-fish of 
Victor Hugo to shed tears of vexation. 

The account' of this wonderful snake comes in a letter from 
the Reverend Christoplier Toppan, minister of Newbury, ad- 
dressed to Cotton Mather. Considering that it emanates from 
a source so entirely respectable and trustworthy, it is to be hoped 
that nobody will treat it as an idle village tale. He writes : — 

"Concerning the Amphisbiena, as soon as I received your commands 
I made diligent enquiry of several persons who saw it after it was 
dead. . . . They directed me, for further information, ... to the per- 
sons who saw it alive, and killed it, which were two or three lads, 




TE D0UBLT:-HEADEr» SNAKE. 

about twelve or fourteen ; one of which, a pert, sensible youngster, told 
me yt one of his mates, running towards him, cryed out there was a 
snake with two heads running after him, upon which he run to him ; 
and the snake getting into a puddle of water, he with a stick pulled 
him out, after which it came toward him, and as he went backwards 
and forward, so the snake would doe likewise. After a little time, the 
snake, upon his striking at him, gathered up his whole body into a 
sort of quoil, except both heads, which kept towards him, and he dis- 
tinctly saw two mouths and two stinys (as they are vulgarly called), 
which stings or tongues it kept putting forth after the usual manner 
of snakes till he killed it. 



THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE. 309 

"Postscript. — Before ensealing I spoke with ttie other man who 
examined the Amphisbtena (and he is also a man of credit), and he 
assures me yt it had really two heads, one at each end, two mouths, 
two stings, or tongues, and so forth. 

" Sir, I have nothing more to add, but that he may have a remem- 
brance in your prayers who is, 

" Sir, your most humble servant, 

" Christopher Toppan." 



THE DOEBLE-HEADED SNAKE OF NEWBURY. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

Far away in the twilight time 
Of every people, in every clime. 
Dragons and griffins and monsters dire. 
Born of water, and air, and fire. 
Or nursed, like the Python, in the mud 
And ooze of the old Deucalion ilood. 
Crawl and wriggle and foam with rage, 
Through dusk tradition and ballad age. 
So from the childhood of Newbury town 
And its time of fable the tale comes down 
Of a terror which haunted bush and brake, 
The Amphisbaena, the Double Snake ! 

Whether he lurked in the Oldtown fen 

Or the gray earth-flax of the Devil's Den, 

Or swam in the wooded Artichoke, 

Or coiled by the Northman's Written Rock, 

Nothing on record is left to show ; 

Only the fact that he lived, we know. 

And left the cast of a double head 

In the scaly mask which he yearly shed. 

For he carried a head where his tail should be, 

And the two, of course, could never agree, 

But wriggled about with main and might, 

Now to the left and now to the right ; 



310 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Pulling and twisting this way and that, 
Neither knew what the other was at. 

Far and wide the tale was told, 

Like a snowball growing while it rolled. 

The nurse hushed with it the baby's cry ; 

And it served, in the worthy minister's eye, 

To paint the primitive serpent by. 

Cotton Mather came galloping down 

All the way to Newbury town, 

With his eyes agog and his ears set wide, 

And his marvellous inkhorn at his side ; 

Stirring the while in the shallow pocd 

Of his Ijrains for the lore he learned at school. 

To garnish the story, with here a streak 

Of Latin, and there another of Greek : 

And the tales he heard and the notes he took, 

Behold! are they not in his Wonder-Book I 



THOMAS MACY, THE EXILE. 

THE archives of Massachusetts once more furnish the inci- 
dent concerning which, as in the " King's Missive," a 
letter — a mere scrap — has sufficed for the poet to construct his 
legend. 

Thomas Macy, yeoman, of Salisbury, in the county of Essex, 
is the subject of Whittier's ballad entitled " The Exiles," which 
first appeared in the " ISTorth Star," a Philadelphia annual. As it 
was then published, it had two stanzas more than it now has in 
the author's collected poems. 

This Macy, the hero of the poem, was complained of for hav- 
ing given shelter to some " notorious " Quakers, or vagabonds, 
as the law then termed them, in his own house. This simple 
act of hospitality being in violation of the law prohibiting any 
man to open his door to a Quaker, no matter how urgent soever 



THOMAS MACY, THE EXILE. 311 

the call upon his humanity might be, Macy, the offending cul- 
prit, was cited forthwith to appear before the General Court at 
Boston to answer the complaint preferred against him. 

Instead of complying with the requisition which very few 
would be found willing in those days to disobey, Macy wrote an 
humble, apologetic, and deprecatory letter to the General Court. 
The letter indicates a man of a very different stamp from the 
antique hero that the poem depicts in the act of cheating the 
minions of the law of their prey. From its terms we have little 
notion that the " Bold Macy," as he is styled there, was cast in 
the same stern mould that the martyrs are ; but we have a very 
distinct one, that if not actually a craven, he believed that in his 
case discretion was the better part of valor. At any rate, he 
wisely concluded to keep out of the clutches of the law, and did 
so. We are sure that the reader would regard any tampering 
with Macy's letter as unpardonable as we do. He says : — 

" This is to entreat the honored court not to be offended because 
of my non-appearance. It is not from any slighting the authority of 
this honored court, nor from feare to answer the case, but I have bin 
for some weeks past very ill, and am so at present, and notwithstand- 
ing my illness, yet I, desirous to appear, have done my utmost 
endeavour to hire a horse, but cannot procure one at present. I being 
at present destitute have endeavoured to purchase, but at present can- 
not attaine it, but I shall relate the truth of the case as my answer 
should be to ye honored court, and more cannot be proved, nor so 
much. On a rainy morning there came to my house Edward Whar- 
ton and three men more ; the said Wharton spoke to me, saying that 
they were traveling eastward, and desired me to direct them in the 
way to Hampton, and asked me how far it was to Casco bay. I never 
saw any of ye men afore except Wharton, neither did I require their 
names, or who they were, but by their carriage I thought they might 
be Quakers, and told them so, and therefore desired them to passe on 
their way, saying to them I might possibly give offence in entertain- 
ing them, and as soone as the violence of the rain ceased (for it rained 
very hard) they went away, and I never saw them since. The time 
that they stayed in the house was about three quarters of an hour, 
but I can safely aflSrme it was not an hour. They spake not many 



312 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS, 

words in the time, neither was I at leisure to talke with them, for I 
came home wet to the skiu immediately afore they came to the house, 
and I found my wife sick in bed. If this satisiie not the honored 
court, I shall subject to their sentence. I have not willingly offended. 
I am ready to serve and obey you in the Lord. 

"Tho. Macy." 




ESCAPE OF GOODMAN MACY. 

Three of these men, being preachers, could look for no mercy 
from the Puritan authorities, who charged them with going about 
seducing his Majesty's good subjects to their "cursed" opinions. 
One of them, Edward Wharton, was an old offender. Two of 
them, Eobinson and Stevenson, are the same persons who, a 
little later on, were hanged at Boston, as related in our account 
of Mrs. Dyer. These itinerants undoubtedly knew where to 
apply, and to whom. Macy knew Wharton ; he was fully 
aware of the risk that he ran in breakinsr the law. But he and 



THOMAS MACY, THE EXILE. 313 

other Quakers of Newbury and Salisbury had already purchased 
the Island of Nantucket, to which it now seems probable that 
they intended removing out of harm's way, as that island was 
not within the jurisdiction of the Bay Colony. 

Having thus secured an asylum in advance, and the General 
Court refusing to allow his explanation or accept his apology, 
tradition now steps in to inform us that, immediately upon 
learning the sentence of the Court, Macy and his wife took an 
open boat, put their children and their movable effects into it, 
and in this frail conveyance they made their way along the 
coast to Cape Cod, and thence to Nantucket. Edward Starbuck, 
of Salisbury, accompanied them. Through persecution, then, 
Macy became the first white inhabitant of this famed isle of the 
sea ; and from his landing at Maddequet in the autumn of 1659 
its settlement dates in history. 

The ballad supposes Macy's house to be suddenly surrounded 
by a troop of horsemen while the proscribed Wharton is under 
the protection of his roof. Macy disputes with the sheriff until 
the minister, who is supposed to be present, urges the officer also 
to seize Macy, whereupon the goodman and his wife, breaking 
away from them, run for the river : — 

Ho ! speed the Macys, neck or naught, — 

The river-course was near : — 
The plashing on its pebbled shore 

Was nuisic to their ear. 



A leap — they gain the boat — and there 
The goodman wields his oar : 

" 111 luck betide them all,"^ — he cried, — 
" The laggards upon the shore." 

Down through the crashing underwood. 

The burly sheriff came : — 
"Stand, goodman Macy, — yield thyself; 

Yield in the King's own name." 



314 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

" Now out upon thy hangman's face ! " 
Bold Macy answered then, — 

" Whip women on the viUage green, 
But meddle not with men." 

With skilful hand and wary eye 
The harbor-bar was crossed ; — 

A plaything of the restless wave, 
The boat on ocean tossed. 

They passed the gray rocks of Cape Ann, 
And Gloucester's harbor-bar ; 

The watch-fire of the garrison 
Shone like a setting star. 

Far round the bleak and stormy Cape 
The vejit'rous Macy passed, 

And on Nantucket's naked isle, 
Drew up his boat at last. 

And yet that isle remain eth 

A refuge of the free, 
As when true-hearted Macy 

Beheld it from the sea. 

God bless the sea-beat island ! — 

And grant for evermore. 
That charity and freedom dwell 

As now upon her shore ! 



TELLING THE BEES. 

RESPECTIXG bees, one very old superstition among others 
is, as T can strictly affirm, still cherished, surviving, appar- 
ently, through that peculiarity of the mind which, the event being 
uncertain, elects to give it the benefit of the doubt rather than to 



TELLING THE BEES. 



315 



discard it as a childish and meaningless custom. This is the com- 
mon belief that bees must be made acquainted with the death of 
any member of the family, otherwise these intelligent little crea- 
tures will either desert the hive in a pet, or leave off working and 
die inside of it. The old way of doing this was for the good wife 
of the house to go and hang the stand of hives with black, the 
usual symbol of mourning, she at the same time softly humming 
some doleful tune to herself. Another way was for the master 




to approach the hives and rap gently upon tliem. When the 
bees' attention was thus secured, he would say in a low voice 
that such or such a person — mentioning the name — was dead. 
This pretty and touching superstition is the subject of one of 
Whittier's " Home Ballads." 

Here is the place ; right over the bill 

Runs the path I took ; 
You can see the gap in the old wall still, 

And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. 



There are the beehives ranged in the sun ; 

And down by the brink 
Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed o'errun, 

Pansv and daffodil, rose and pink. 



316 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



Before them, under the garden-wall, 

Forward and back, 
Went drearily singing the chore-girl small, 

Draping each hive with a shred of black. 

Trembling, I listened : the summer sun 

Had the chill of snow ; 
For I knew she was telling the bees of one 

Gone on the journey we all must go I 

Then I said to myself, " My Mary weeps 

For the dead to-day : 
Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps 

The fret and the pain of his age away." 

But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, 

With his cane to his chin, 
The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still 

Sung to the bees stealing out and in. 

"Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence! 
Mistress Marv is dead and gone ! " 




HAMPTON AND PORTSMOUTH LEGENDS. 




HAMPTON LEGENDS. 



THE strip of coast extending from the Merrimack to the 
Piscataqua is an almost unbroken line of hard sand-beach 
washed by the ocean. Salisbury Sands begins and Hampton 
and Rye continue the line that is only interrupted where some 
creek cuts a way through it, or 
some bleak foreland, thrusts 
itself out from the shore. Salis- 
bury has for more than a hun- 
dred years been celebrated for 
the annual gatherings that its 
citizens hold on the beach there, 
in imitation of the " clam feasts " 
of the Indians, with whom the 
custom originated, and who made 

the occasion one of much ceremony and solemnity, inasmuch 
as the sea was to them a great harvest-field provided by their 
God of Plenty for the sustenance of his red children. 

Whittier's " Tent on the Beach " was pitched at the mouth of 
Hampton Eiver, at the extremity of the Salisbury Sands ; and 




BOAR S HEAD. 



320 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

this is also the locality of the " Wreck of Eivermouth," found 
in that collection, which is something in the manner of Long- 
fellow's "Tales of a Wayside Inn," the "tent" here doing the 
duty of the ancient tavern there. Both are, however, in their 
method, a distinct reminiscence of the " Decamerone " of Boc- 
caccio. But Whittier's is a voice arising from the sea, full of its 
charm and mystery, Staiiding at his tent door, — 

Northward a green bluff broke the chain 

Of sand-hills ; southward stretched a plain 

Of salt-grass, with a river winding down. 

Sail- whitened, and beyond the steeples of the town. 

That is Boar's Head ; the Merrimack, with Newburyport in 
the distance. 

Again, the poet points us to — 

the sunny isles in view, 
East of the grisly Head of the Boar ; 

and then to where — 

Agamenticus lifts its blue 
Disk of a cloud the woodlands o'er. 

So we feel that the " Tent on the Beach," instead of emanat- 
ing from within the narrow limits of four walls, where the doors 
are securely bolted and barred against the weather, is the voice 
of Nature herself, — of the free breeze, the billows, and the foam, 
which imparts the invigorating quality to these verses, and gives 
them a distinct and captivating out-of-door flavor. 

Of his legendary stories that are associated with Hampton the 
poet says : — 

A simple plot is mine : legends and runes 
Of credulous days ; old fancies, that have lain 
Silent from boyhood, taking voice again, 
Warmed into life once more, even as the tunes 
That, frozen in the failed hunting-horn. 
Thawed into sound. 



HAMPTON LEGENDS. 321 

Haiijpton, formerly the Indian Winnicumet, is an old border 
settlement of the Bay Colony, that was transferred, through the 
blundering of her agents, to New Hampshire when the long 
dispute about the boundary between the two governments was 
finally settled. The singular and apparently eccentric course of 
this line, resembling a Virginia fence, is not due to chance, but 
to the crookedness of Colonial politics. While this controversy 
Avas pending, the legislative bodies of both governments once 
held a session at Hampton Falls, — which course, it was thought, 
by bringing the rival interests together, might end the dispute, 
but did not. Whereupon some poetaster of the period gave the 
following rhymed version of the "pomp and circumstance" 
attending the entry of the Massachusetts dignitaries into the 
humble frontier village. He says : — 

Dear Paddy, you ne'er did behold such a sight 

As yesterday morning was seen before night. 

You in all your born daj's saw, nor I did n't neither, 

So many fine horses and men ride together. 

At the head the lower house trotted two in a row, 

Then all the higher house pranced after the low ; 

Then the Governor's coach galloped on like the wind, 

And the last that came foremost were troopers behind. 

But I fear it means no good to your neck nor mine, 

For they say 't is to fix a right place for the line. 

As soon as you have crossed this line, the people, pointing 
toward their mountains, will tell you that there is no air like New- 
Hampshire air. As soon as you shall have passed beyond this 
boundary you no longer breathe the atmosphere of the old 
Puritan life, but one emanating from a different and antagonistic 
source, — into which, nevertheless, the more vigorous currents 
originating on the other side of the border constantly infused 
themselves and kept it pure. 

The most interesting thing about Hampton, apart from its 
legends, is the singular promontory of Boar's Head, which is 
one of the noted resorts of the New-England coast, and one of 
the earliest to be visited for health or pleasure. 

21 



322 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Boar's Head is indeed a puzzle. It is a heap of drift gently- 
ascending from the marshes to the crumbling brow of a lofty 
headland, against which, far below you, the sea dashes wildly. 
The bowlders sticking in its sides look as if they might liave 
been shot there in the days when stones supplied the want of 
cannon-balls ; for we look around without seeing anything to 
account for their presence. It is wind-swept and treeless. A few 
dwarf junipers and some clumps of bushes cling mournfully to its 
sides, which they are unable to ascend. A low reef stretching 
out towards the southeast, resembling the broken vertebrae of 
some fabled sea-monster, shows in what direction the grand old 
headland has most suffered from the unremitting work of demo- 
lition carried on by the waves, which pour and break like an 
avalanche over the blackened bowlders, and fly hissing into the 
air like the dust rising from its ruins. As if to confirm this 
theory, nothing grows on the southeast point, while on the 
northeast grasses flourish and daisies nod to the cool sea-breeze. 
We say again. Boar's Head is a puzzle. 

It is indeed an inspiring sight to see the surf breaking on 
each side of you in a continuous line of foam from the mouth 
of the Merrimack to Little Boar's Head, and then, turning tow- 
ards the ofting, see the dark cluster of the Isles of Shoals lying 
low on the still more extended expanse of the ocean. 



JONATHAN MOULTON AND THE DEVIL. 

(From "The Heart of the White Mo\intains.") 

THE legendary hero of Hampton is General Jonathan 
Moulton. He is no fictitious personage, but one of ver- 
itable flesh and blood, who, having acqi;ired considerable celebrity 
in the old wars, lives on through the medium of a local legend. 

The General, says the legend, encountered a far more notable 
adversary than Abenaki warriors or conjurers, among whom he 



324 , NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

had lived, and whom it was the passion of his life to exter- 
minate. 

In an evil hour his yearning to amass wealth suddenly led 
him to declare that he would sell his soul for the possession of 
unbounded riches. Think of the Devil, and he is at your elbow. 
The fatal declaration was no sooner made — the General was 
sitting alone by his fireside — than a shower of sparks came 
down the chimney, out of which stepped a man dressed from 
top to toe in black velvet. The astonished Moulton noticed 
that the stranger's ruffles were not even smutted. 

" Your servant. General ! " quoth the stranger, suavely. " But 
let us make haste, if you please, for I am expected at the Gov- 
ernor's in a quarter of au hour," he added, picking up a live 
coal with his thumb and forefinger, and consulting his watch 
with it. 

The General's wits began to desert him. Portsmouth was 
five leagues — long ones at that — from Hampton House, and his 
strange visitor talked, with the utmost unconcern, of getting 
there in fifteen minutes! His astonishment caused him to stam- 
mer out, — 

" Then you must be the — '" 

"Tush! what signifies a name?" interrupted the stranger, 
with a deprecating wave of tlie hand. " Come, do we under- 
stand each other 1 Is it a bargain, or not *? " 

At the talismanic word " bargain " the General pricked up his 
ears. He had often been heard to say that neither man nor 
devil could get the better of him in a trade. He took out his 
jack-knife and began to whittle. The Devil took out his, and 
began to pare his nails. 

" But what proof have I that you can perform what you 
promise 1 " demanded Moulton, pursing up his mouth and con- 
tracting his bushy eyebrows, like a man who is not to be taken 
in by mere appearances. 

The fiend ran his fingers carelessly through his peruke, when 
a shower of golden guineas fell to the floor and rolled to the 
four corners of the room. The General quickly stooped to pick 



JONATHAN MOULTON AND THE DEVIL. 325 

up one ; but no sooner had his fingers closed, upon it, than he 
dropped it with a yell. It was red-hot ! 

The Devil chuckled ; "Try again," he said. But Moulton 
shook his head and retreated a step. 

" Don't be afraid." 

Moulton cautiously touched a coin ; it was cool. He weighed 
it in his hand, and rung it on the table ; it was full weight and 
true ring. Then he went down on his hands and knees, and 
began to gather up the guineas with feverish haste. 

" Are you satisfied 1 " demanded Satan. 

"Completely, your Majesty." 

" Then to business. By the way, have you anything to drink 
in the house 1 " 

"There is some Old Jamaica in the cupboard." 

" Excellent ! I am as thirsty as a Puritan on election-day," 
said the Devil, seating himself at the table, and negligently 
flinging his mantle back over his shoulder, so as to show the 
jewelled clasps of his doublet. 

' Moulton brought a decanter and a couple of glasses from the 
cupboard, filled one, and passed it to his infernal guest, who 
tasted it, and smacked his lips with the air of a connoisseur. 
Moulton watched every gesture. " Does your Excellency not 
find it to your taste ? " he ventured to ask : having the secret 
idea that he might get the Devil drunk, and so outwit him. 

" H'm, I have drunk worse. But let me show you how to 
make a salamander," replied Satan, touching the lighted end of 
the taper to the liquor, which instantly burst into a spectral blue 
flame. The fiend then raised the tankard to the height of his 
eye, glanced approvingly at the blaze, — which to Moulton's 
disordered intellect resembled an adder's forked and agile tongue, 
— nodded, and said, patronizingly, " To our better acquaint- 
ance ! " He then quaffed the contents at a single gulp. 

Moulton shuddered ; this was not the way he had been 
used to seeing healths drunk. He pretended, however, to drink, 
for fear of giving offence ; but somehow the liquor choked him. 
The demon set down the tankard, and observed, in a matter-of- 



326 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

fact way that put his listener in a cold sweat : " Now that you 
are convinced I am able to make you the richest man in all the 
province, listen! Have I your ear"? It is well! In considera- 
tion of your agreement, duly signed and sealed, to deliver your 
soul " — here he drew a parchment from his breast — "I engage, 
on my part, on the hrst day of every month, to fill your boots 
with golden elephants, like these before you. But mark me 
well," said Satan, holding n\) a forefinger glittering with dia- 
monds, " if you try to jjlay me any trick, you will repent it ! I 
know you, Jonathan Moulton, and shall keep my eye upon you ; 
so beware ! " 

Moulton flinched a little at this plain speech ; but a thought 
seemed to strike him, and he briglitened up. Satan opened the 
scroll, smoothed out the creases, dipped a pen in the inkhorn at 
his girdle, and pointing to a blank space, said, laconically, 
*' Sign ! " 

Moulton hesitated. 

"If you are afraid," sneered Satan, "why put me to all this 
trouble 1 " and he began to put the gold in his pocket. 

His victim seized the pen; but his liand shook so that he could 
not write. He gulped down a mouthful of rum, stole a look at 
his infernal guest, who nodded his head by way of encourage- 
ment, and a second time aj^proached his pen to the paper. The 
struggle was soon over. The unhappy Moulton wrote his name 
at the bottom of the fatal list, which he was astonished to see 
numbered some of the highest personages in the province. " I 
shall at least be in good company," he muttered. 

" Good ! " said Satan, rising and putting the scroll carefully 
away within his breast. " Eely on me. General, and be sure you 
keep faith. Eemember ! " So saying, the demon waved his 
hand, flung his mantle about him, and vanished up the chimney. 

Satan performed his part of the contract to the letter. On the 
first day of every month the boots, which were hung on the crane 
in the fireplace the night before, were found in the morning stuffed 
full of guineas. It is true that Moulton had ransacked the vil- 
lage for the largest pair to be found, and had finally secured a 



JONATHAN MOULTON AND THE DEVIL. 327 

brace of trooper'a jack-boots, which came nearly up to the 
wearer's thigh ; but the contract merely expressed boots, and 
the Devil does not stand upon trifles. 

Moulton rolled in wealth ; everything prospered. His neigh- 
bors regarded him first with envy, then with aversion, at last 
with fear. N^ot a few affirmed that he had entered into a 
league with the Evil One. Others shook their heads, saying, 
"What does it signify] — that man would outwit the Devil 
himself." 

But one morning, when the fiend came as usual to fill the 
boots, what was his astonishment to find that he could not fill 
them. He poured in the guineas, but it was like pouring water 
into a rat-hole. The more he put in, the more the quantity 
seemed to diminish. In vain he persisted ; the boots could not 
be filled. 

The Devil scratched his ear. " I must look into this," he 
reflected. No sooner said, than he attempted to descend ; but in 
doing so he found his progress suddenly stopped. A good 
reason. The chimney was choked up with guineas ! Foaming 
with rage, the demon tore the boots from the crane. The crafty 
General had cut off" the soles, leaving only the legs for the Devil 
to fill. The chamber was knee-deep with gold. 

The Devil gave a horrible grin, and disappeared. The same 
night Hampton House was burned to the ground, the General only 
escaping in his shirt. He had been dreaming he was dead and 
in hell. His precious guineas were secreted in the wainscot, the 
ceiling, and other hiding-places known only to himself. He 
blasphemed, wept, and tore his hair. Suddenly he grew calm. 
After all, the loss was not irreparable, he reflected. Gold would 
melt, it is true ; but he would find it all, — of course he would, — 
at daybreak, run into a solid lump in the cellar, — every guinea. 
That is true of ordinary gold. 

The General worked with the energy of despair, clearing away 
the rubbish. He refused all offers of assistance ; he dared not 
accept them. But the gold had vanished. Whether it was 
really consumed, or had passed again into the massy entrails of 



328 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

the earth, will never be known. It is onl}' certain that every 
vestige of it had disappeared. 

When the General died and was buried, strange rumors began 
to circulate. To quiet them, the grave was opened ; but when 
the lid was removed from the coffin, it was found to be empty. 

Another legend runs to the effect that upon the death of his 
wife under — as evil report would have it — very suspicious 
circumstances, the General paid his court to a young woman 
who had been the companion of his deceased spouse. They 
were married. In the middle of the night the young bride 
awoke with a start. She felt an invisible hand trying to take 
off from her finger the wedding-ring that had once belonged to 
the dead and buried Mrs. Moulton. Shrieking with fright, she 
jumped out of bed, thns awaking her husband, who tried in 
vain to calm her fears. Candles were lighted and search made 
for the ring ; but as it could never be found again, the ghostly 
visitor was supposed to have carried it away with her. This 
story is the same that is told by Whittier in the "New Wife 
and the Old." 



GOODY COLE. 

aOODWIFE Eunice Cole, the witch of Hampton, was for a 
quarter of a century or more the terror of the people of 
that town, who believed her to have sold herself body and soul 
to the Devil. Whom we hate we also fear. The bare mention 
of her name would, it is said, hush crying children into silence, 
or hurry truant boys to school. Although she was repeatedly 
thrown into prison, she Avas yet unaccountably suffered to con- 
tinue to live the life of an outcast, until death finally freed the 
community from their fears. In 1680 she was brought before 
the Quarter Sessions to answer to the charge of being a witch ; 
and though there was "noe full proof" that she was a witch, yet 
for the satisfaction of the Court, which " vehemently suspects her 



THE WRECK OF EIVEEMOUTH. 329 

so to be," and probably too of the people, Major Waldron, the 
presiding magistrate, ordered her to be imprisoned, with " a lock 
kept on her leg," at the pleasure of the Court. As she was first 
prosecuted as early as 1656, she must have been a very old 
woman when this harsh sentence was pronounced. For some 
years — how many it is not known — Goody Cole lived alone in a 
hovel which stood a little way back from the spot where the 
Academy now stands ; and in this wretched hut, without a friend 
to soothe her last moments, she miserably died. Several days 
elapsed before her death became known ; and even then, such 
was the fear her supposed powers had inspired, that it required 
a great deal of courage on the part of the inhabitants to force 
an entrance into her cabin, where she lay dead. When this had 
been done, the body was dragged outside, a hole hastily dug, 
into which it was tumbled, and then — conformably with current 
superstition — a stake was driven through it, in order to exorcise 
the baleful influence she was supposed to have possessed. 

The ballad supposes her to have cast the spell of her malevo- 
lence over a merry company of villagers who sailed out of the 
river for a day of pleasure, — soon to be turned into mourning 
by the drowning of the whole party, the storm in which they 
perished being raised by Goody Cole. 



THE WRECK OF EIVEEMOUTH. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

Once, in the old Colonial days, 

Two hundred years ago and more, 
A boat sailed down through the winding ways 

Of Hampton River to that low shore, 
Full of a goodly company 
Sailing out on the summer sea, 
Veering to catch the land-breeze light, 
With the Boar to left and the Rocks to right. 



330 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

" Fie on the witch ! " cried a merry girl, 
As they rounded the point where Goody Cole 

Sat by her door with her wheel atwirl, 
A bent and blear-eyed poor old soul. 

" Oho ! " she muttered, " ye 're brave to-day ! 

But I hear the little waves laugh and say, 

' The broth will be cold that waits at home ; 

For it 's one to go, but another to come ! ' " 

" She 's cursed," said the skij^per ; " speak her fair 

I 'm scary always to see her shake 
Her wicked head, with its wild gray hair. 

And nose like a hawk, and eyes like a snake." 
But merrily still, with laugh and shout, 
From Hampton River the boat sailed out. 
Till the huts and the flakes on Star seemed nigh. 
And they lost the scent of the pines of Rye. 

They dropped their lines in the lazy tide, 
Drawing up haddock and mottled cod ; 
They saw not the Shadow that walked beside, 

They heard not the feet with silence shod. 
But thicker and thicker a hot mist grew. 
Shot by the lightnings through and through ; 
And muffled growls, like the growl of a beast, 
Ran along the sky from west to east. 

The skipper hauled at the heavy sail : 
" God be our help ! " he only cried, 
As the roaring gale, like the stroke of a flail. 

Smote the boat on its starboard side. 
The Shoalsmen looked, but saw alone 
Dark films of rain-cloud slantwise blown, 
Wild rocks lit up by the lightning's glare, 
The strife and torment of sea and air. 

Goody Cole looked out from her door : 

The Isles of Shoals were drowned and gone. 

Scarcely she saw the Head of the Boar 
Toss the foam i'rom tusks of stone. 



PORTSMOUTH LEGENDS. 331 

She clasped her hands with a grip of pain, 
The tear on lier cheek was not of rain : 
" They are lost," she muttered, " boat and crew! 
Lord, forgive ine ! my words were true ! " 

Suddenly seaward swept the squall ; 

The low sun smote through cloudy rack ; 
The Shoals stood clear in the light, and all 

The trend of the coast lay hard and black. 
But far and wide as eye could reach, 
No life was seen upon wave or beach ; 
The boat that went out at morning never 
Sailed back again into Hampton River. 



PORTSMOUTH LEGENDS. 

ri^HE early voyagers soon discovered tlie Piscataqua River, 
JL and they quickly perceived its advantages as a harbor. 
There was Agamenticus for a landmark, and there was a swift- 
flowing tide, which the natives told them was never frozen. 
There were spacious basins, deep and sheltered, in which a navy 
might ride securely ; and there were also high and gently slop- 
ing banks, over which the swaying pines looked down upon their 
own dark shadows in the eddying stream below. The river was 
found to conduct into a fertile and heavily-timbered region, of 
which it was the natural outlet. Tlie shores were seen to afford 
admirable sites for the settlement that one and tlie other were 
destined to support. 

This was accordingly begun in 1(32.3, under the direction and 
by the authority of Gorges and Mason, in whom the successful 
experiment of the Plymouth Pilgrims had inspired new hopes of 
turning their royal grants to account. 

The promoters of tlie settlement were Churchmen, wdio had 
little sympathy with Puritan ideas, and none at all with its 



332 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

scheme of government ; and as some of those who had found 
the rule of these ideas too hard for their stomachs had removed 
into New Hampshire, a prejudice grew np between the two com- 
munities, which for tiie rest, afford to the student of history an 
example of two diverse systems growing up side by side. 
Wheelwright and his friends were of the latter class. Time, 
mutual interest, and the rapid ascendency obtained b}^ the sister 
colony, with other considerations, finally closed the breach. 

The system of Gorges and Mason, to establish a colony of ten- 
ants having only leaseholds subject to quit-rents, Avhich they 
should govern by their agents, worked only eventual evil to 
themselves. It was an attempt to graft the landed system of 
Old upon New England by the side of the freehold plan of the 
thrifty and sagacious Massachusetts patentees; and it was a dis- 
astrous failure. Finding that they were growing poor, while the 
Puritan freeholders were growing rich, the people threw off their 
yoke, and sought a union Avith Massachusetts. 

Still, the old leaven of prejudice survived in the descendants 
of the original inhabitants, who loved royalty and its forms, 
adhered to the Mother-Church and its traditions, and felt no 
sympathy whatever for the austere manners, the rigid economy, 
or the quasi-ecclesiastical government of their more powerful 
neighbors. These people gave tone to the principal settlement ; 
and since there was no aristocracy of blood, one of wealth rose 
and flourished in its stead. 

As the capital, the chief town, and the only seaport of the 
province, Portsmouth long enjoyed a peculiar distinction. It 
remained the political centre until the seat of government was 
transferred, early in the present century, to the interior of the 
State. Inevitable changes turned commerce into other channels. 
Its commercial importance waned, progress was arrested, and the 
place came to a standstill ; and it is to-day more remarkable for 
what it has been than for what it is. 

Therefore Portsmouth has the stamp of a coin of fifty years 
ago. It is of the true weight and ring, but the date and the 
legend are old. The best houses are still tlie oldest ; and those 



THE STONE-THKOWINCt DEVIL. 333 

of the Wentworths, the Langdons, and the Sherbumes, rival 
the traditional splendors of the Colonial mansions of the Puritan 
capital iu spaciousness, richness of decoration, and that rare 
combination of simplicity and elegance which lifted the Colonial 
magnate above the heads of his own generation, and lias made 
his housekeeping the admiration of ours. It is among these old 
houses that we must look for our legendary lore. 

The West of England seaports are known to have furnished 
a great proportion of the original settlers in New England ; and 
certainly no class were more susceptible to the influence of 
superstition than these sea-faring or sea-subsisting people. Upon 
the folk-lore of home was now grafted that of the Indian ; whilst 
over this again hovered the mystery of an unexplored country, 
— in itself a keen spur to the appetite that grows with what 
it feeds upon. The region round about Portsmouth, Newcastle, 
Kittery, York, and the Isles of Shoals, is therefore prolific in 
legends of a homely and primitive kind ; one of which we are 
about to relate. 



THE STONE-THROWING- DEVIL. 

"TTNDER the title of " Lithobolia," the story of the Stone- 
^^ Throwing Devil was printed in London in the year 1698. 
It purports to be the narrative of an eye-witness, and is signed 
with the initials " R. C." This tract, consisting of a few leaves 
only, is now extremely rare ; but a synopsis of its contents 
may be found in the " Wonderful Providences " of Increase 
Mather. 

George Walton was an inhabitant of Portsmouth in the year 
1682. He had incurred the bitter enmity of an old woman of 
the neighborhood by taking from her a strip of land to which 
she laid claim ; and it is the opinion of the writers whom we 
have quoted that she, being a witch, was at the bottom of all 
the mischief that subsequently drove Walton's family to the 



334 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

brink of despair. Tliiis beldam had in fact told Walton that 
he should never peacefully enjoy the land he had wrested from 
her. 

One still Sabbath night in June all at once a shower of stones 
rattled against the sides and roof of Walton's house. It came 
as fiercely and as unexpectedly as a summer hailstorm. As 
soon as it had ceased, the startled inmates, who were in bed, 
hurried on their clothes and sallied out to see if they could 
discover the perpetrators of this outrage upon the peace and quiet 
of the family. It was ten o'clock, and a bright moonliglit 
night. They found the gate taken oft' the hinges and carried 
to a distance from the house, but could neither see nor hear 
anything of the stone-throwers. 

While thus engaged, a second volley of stones whistled about 
their heads, which drove them, much terrified by its sudden- 
ness and fury, back to the shelter of the house. They first 
went into the porch ; but the stones reaching them here, they 
were quickly pelted out of this into an inner chamber, where, 
having bolted and barred all the doors, they awaited in no calm 
frame of mind the next demonstration of their assailants. Some 
liad been struck and hurt, antl all were in consternation. But 
to the dismay of these poor people, tliis proved no secure refuge ; 
for the stone battery opened again presently, filling the room 
itself with flying missiles, which craslied through the casements, 
scattering the glass in every direction, came down the chimney, 
bounding and rebounding along the floor like spent cannon- 
balls, while the inmates looked on in helpless amazement at 
what threatened to demolish the house over their heads. This 
bombardment continued, with occasional intermission, for four 
hours. 

While it was going on, Walton was walking the floor of his 
chamber in great disorder of mind, when a sledge-hammer cast 
witli vindictive force thumped heavily along the floor overhead, 
and, narrowly missing him, fell at his feet, making a great dent 
in the oaken floor; at the same time the caudles were swe])t off" 
the table, leaving him in total darkness. 



THE STONE-THKOWING DEVIL. 335 

All this, it is true, might have been the work of evil-minded 
persons ; but certain things hardly consistent with this theory 
convinced the family beyond any reasonable doubt that the 
stones which bruised and terrified them were hurled by demon 
hands. In the first place, some of the stones which were picked 
up were found to be hot, as if they had just been taken out of 
the fire. In the second, notwithstanding several of them were 
marked, counted, and laid upon a table, these same stones 
would afterward be found flying around the room again as soon 
as the person's back was turned who had put them there. In 
the third, upon examination, the leaden cross-bars of tlie case- 
ments Avere found to be bent outwardly, and not inwardly, 
showing conclusively that the stones came from within, and not 
from without. Finally, to settle the matter, some of the maidens 
belonging to the household were frightened out of their wits 
upon seeing a hand thrust out of a window, or the apparition of 
a hand, — there being, to their certain knowledge, no one in the 
room where it came from. 

This was not all. After Walton had gone to bed, though 
not to sleep, a heavy stone came crashing through his chamber- 
door. He got up, secured the unwelcome intruder, and locked 
it in his own chamber ; but it was taken out by invisible hands, 
and carried with a great noise into the next room. This was 
followed by a brickbat. The spit flew up the chimney, and 
came down again, without any visible agency. This carnival 
continued from day to day with an occasional respite. Wher- 
ever the master of the house showed himself, in the barn, the 
field, or elsewhere, by day or by night, he was sure to receive 
a volley. No one who witnessed them doubted for a moment 
that all these acts proceeded from the malevolence of the afore- 
said witch; and an attempt was accordingly made to brew a 
powerful witch-broth in the house, to exorcise her. But for 
some reason or other its charm failed to work ; and so the spell 
remained hanging over the afflicted family. 

Some of the pranks of the demon quite outdo the feats of 
Harlequin in the Christmas pantomimes. W^alton had a guest 



336 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

staying with him, who became the faitliful recorder of what 
happened wliile the storm of stones rained down upon the 
doomed dwelKng. In order to soothe and tranquillize his mind, 
he took up a musical instrument and began to play ; when " a 
good big stone " rolled in to join in the dance, while the jjlayer 
looked on in amazement. Among other tricks performed by 
the mischievous (.lemon who had taken up its unwelcome resi- 
dence among the family, was that of taking a cheese from the 
press and crumbling it over the floor ; then the iron used in 
the press was found driven into the wall, and a kettle hung 
upon it. Several cocks of hay that had been mowed near the 
house were adroitly hung upon trees near by ; while the mis- 
chievous goblin, twisting bunches of hay into wisps, stuck them 
up all about the house kitchen, — " cum multis aliis." 

The relater of all these unaccountable doings indeed admits 
that certain sceptical persons persisted in believing that any or 
all of them might have been the work of human beings ; but as 
every one credits what he wishes to credit, so this ancient writer 
appears to mention the fact only with the view of exposing its 
absurdity. Our own purpose is, not to decide between two 
opinions, but to declare that people in general considered George 
Walton to be a victim of supernatural visitation, or, in other 
words, bewitched ; and to show that the temper of his day was 
such, that any occurrence out of the common was sure to be 
considered according to its character, either as emanating from 
heaven or from the bottomless pit. There were no such things 
as accidents ; everything had some design. 



LADY WENTWORTH. 337 



LADY WENTWORTH. 

A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 

GOVERNOR BENNING WENTWORTH, a man of "fam- 
ily," in the language of his day, the owner of large estates 
too, and likewise endowed with a sufficiently exalted idea of his 
own importance, social, political, and hereditary, had nevertheless 
matrimonial idiosyncrasies wholly at odds with the traditions 
and the susceptibilities of his class. We do not clearly know 
whether he was really superior to their demands, or altogether 
indifferent upon the subject ; but we do know that had he been 
other than he was, there would have been no groundwork for 
our story. 

This royal Governor lived in his fine mansion at Little Har- 
bor, which, out of deference, probably, to his Excellency's con- 
venience, to say nothing of his dinners, became also a sort of 
official residence, where he received visits of ceremony, punctu- 
ally drank the King's health, and presided over the sittings of 
his Majesty's Council for the province. All this, it may be 
assumed, added a good deal to his sense of personal dignity, and 
not a little to his vanity, besides exerting a certain influence 
upon provincial politics, by establishing a coterie, of which he 
was the head, with its headquarters under his own roof. — And 
this roof, by the way, might tell a good many queer stories. 
But we have no time to dwell upon these phases of the mixed 
political and social life of Governor Wentworth's day. The old 
fellow liked display. He had his personal guard, he had his 
stud, and it was his ambition to have the be.st wine-cellar of 
any of his Majesty's subjects in the province ; therefore his 
personal surroundings did no discredit to the commission with 
which his sovereign's favor had honored him. His house con- 
tained half a hundred apartments, all of which were probably 

22 



338 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

in use when the Honorable Council met, at the Governor's bid- 
ding, to make a levy of troops for Louisburg, or upon other 
matters of public concern. Business being over, the company 
repaired to the billiard-room or the card-rooms, to the stables or 
to the river, for relaxation, — the oldsters to kill time, the young- 
sters to kill the ladies. 

It was a pleasant mansion, an abode 

Near and yet hidden from the great high-road, 

Sequestered among trees, a noble pile. 

Baronial and colonial in its style ; 

Gables and dormer-windows everywhere. 

And stacks of chimneys rising high in air. 

Within, unwonted splendors met the eye. 
Panels, and floors of oak, and tapestry ; 
Carvetl chimney-pieces, where on brazen dogs 
Revelled and roared the Christmas fires of logs. 

But this brave establishment lacked one thing to render it 
complete, — it needed a mistress. The Governor had been left 
widowed and childless in his old age to sustain the cares of 
office and the management of his extensive household alone. 
Ho determined to marry again. 

The world, had it been consulted in the matter, might have 
imposed upon him a bride of mature years and experience ; 
above all, one taken from his own rank, or at least having a 
pedigree. But the Governor was not yet too old to be insen- 
sible to the charms of youth and beauty ; and he proceeded to 
snap his fat fingers in the face of society by proposing marriage 
to a young woman of the town of Portsmouth, who possessed all 
the personal graces that were re(|uisite in his eyes to make her 
Lady Wentworth. The lady, however, saw nothing but a gouty 
old man, — Avho might, it was true, soon leave her a widow ; but 
this was not the life tliat she looked forward to. She having 
moreover formed another attachment in her own sphere of life, 
rejected the Governor, for whom she cared not a button, in 
favor of a young mechanic whom she dearly loved. This double 



LADY WENTWOETII. 339 

wound to his love and vanity the old Governor determined 
signally to avenge; and to this end he wickedly caused the 
bridegroom to he kidnapped hy a press-gang and carried off 
to sea. 

The Governor's second matrimonial venture was more fortu- 
nate. This time his eyes fell upon Martha Hilton, a saucy, red- 
lipped gypsy of the town, who is first introduced to us while 
she is carrying a pail of water — probably fresh-drawn from the 
town pump yonder — along the street. Her feet are bare, her 
dress scarcely covers her decently ; yet for all that she behnigs 
to one of the oldest families in the province. But she is charm- 
ing, even in these mean habiliments. 

It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 
The slender form, the delicate, thin face ; 
The swaying motion, as she hurried by ; 
The shining feet, the laughter in her eye. 

The sight of the girl in this plight so incenses the sharp- 
tongued landlady of the Earl of Halifax inn, that she exclaims 
from her doorway, " You Pat ! you Pat ! how dare you go look- 
in^ so 1 You ought to be ashamed to be seen in the street ! " 

The warm blood comes into the maiden's cheeks at this sharp 
reproof. She gives her head a toss, and haughtily says : " No 
matter how I look, I shall ride in my chariot yet, ma'am ! " and 
passes on, leaving Mistress Stavers nailed to her doorstep at 
such unheard of presumption in a half-dressed slip of a girl, 
who is carrying water through the public street. Ride in her 
chariot, indeed ! 

Like Cinderella, Martha Hilton next makes her appearance in 
the kitchen of the Governor's mansion at Little Harbor. But 
she is not to stay here. One day the Governor gives a splendid 
banquet. The company is assembled, — 

He had invited all his friends and peers, — 
The Pepperels, the Langdons, and the Lears, 
The Sparhawks, the Penhallows, and the rest ; 
For why repeat the name of every guest 1 




<^s- 



" I SHALL KIDE IN MY CHAKTOT TET, MA'aM.' 



LADY WENTWOETH. 341 

and among the red coats of the quality is the black one of the 
Reverend Arthur Brown, rector of the Episcopal church, — 

With smiling face 
He sat beside the Governor and said grace. 

The dinner is served; the wine circulates freely round the 
board ; and the guests, having dined well, have reached the mo- 
ment of supreme content following, when the Governor whis- 
pers something to a servant, who bows and goes out. Presently 
there is a little bustle at the door, and then Martha Hilton, 
blushing like lire, walks into the room and takes her stand in 
front of the fireplace. 

Can this be Martha Hilton ? It must be ! 
Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she ! 
Dowered with the beauty of her twenty years, 
How ladylike, how queenlike, she appears 1 

She is now richly dressed ; and would hardly be recognized as the 
same person wliom we saw in the street not long ago. Conversa- 
tion ceases ; all the guests look up to admire the beautiful woman. 

The Governor rises from his chair, goes over to where Martha 
is struggling to maintain her self-possession, and then, address- 
ing himself to the clergyman, while all the guests stare, he says : 
" Mr. Brown, I wish you to marry me." 

" To whom 1 " asks the bewildered rector. 

" To this lady," replies the Governor, taking Martha's hand in 
his. 

As the dumfounded rector remained speechless, the irascible 
old Governor became imperative. 

"Sir," he said, "as the Governor of his Majesty's province of 
New Hampshire, I command you to marry me." 

The ceremony was then performed ; the maiden of twenty 
became the bride of the gouty old man of sixty ; and thus her 
saucy answer came true. 

Mr. Longfellow's poem, founded upon this romance of real 
life, is also 

A pretty picture, full of grace, — 



342 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



in which the social distinctions of Governor Wentworth's day 
are emphasized, iu order to show how easily Love laughs at them 
and at all those safeguards behind which society intrenches itself 
against a misalliance. But here a maiden of twenty marries a 
man old enough to be her grandfatlier. Is it for love ? He 
marries his lovely dependant because he is lonesome. 



/. I I 



J/iJii , 




^att |^intf)» 



YORK, TSLES-OF-SHOALS, AND BOON- 
ISLAND LEGENDS. 



ISLES-OF-SHOALS LEGENDS. 

THEEE leagues off the coast of New Hampshire, huddled 
together in a group, the Isles of Shoals rise out of the 
gray line of old ocean like mountain peaks above a cloud ; 
and, as if disinherited by Nature, nothing grows upon them 
except a little grass, a few hardy shrubs, and the yellow lichens 
that spot the gaunt rocks like the scales of a leper. One soli- 
tary lighthouse lifts its warning finger upon the outermost rock, 
but, like a monument to the many wrecks that have happened 
there, this only signals a rock of danger, and not a haven of 
safety for distressed mariners. 

Treeless, unblessed by the evidences of cultivation or thrift, 
with no other sound than that of the sea breaking heavily 
against them, and no other sign of life than the surf whitening 
their sides of granite and flint, a more lonely scene can hardly 
be imagined. Upon landing and looking about him in silent 
wonder, one is more and more impressed with the idea that 
the sea has bared these imperishable rocks by its subsidence, 
and that he is standing on the summit of a submerged moun- 
tain, emerging from the ocean like one risen from the dead. 

A heap of bare and splintery crags 

Tumbled aboiit by lightning and frost, 

With rifts and chasms and storm-beat jags 
That wait and growl for a ship to be lost ; 

No island, but rather the skeleton 

Of a wrecked and vengeance-smitten one. 



346 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Away northeast is Boon-Island Light ; 

You might mistake it for a ship, 
Only it stands too plumb upright, 

And, like the others, does not slip 
Behind the sea's unsteady brink. 

On the mainland you see a misty camp 
Of mountains pitched tumultuously : 

That one looming so long and large 

Is Saddleback ; and that point you see 

Over yon low and rounded marge. 

Like the boss of a sleeping giant's targe 
Laid over his heart, is Ossipee : 

That shadow there may be Kearsarge. 

There can be little room for doubt that these islands were, 
from a very early time, the resort of occasional fishing ships, as 
they subsequently became the haunt of smugglers and outlaws, 
— I mean pirates. The cluster enclosed a tolerable harbor, were 
uninhabited, were convenient to the fishing-grounds, and they 
afforded excellent fixcilities for curing fish. In later times their 
isolated position rendered them a secure refuge for the lawless 
rovers who infested our coasts, and who could snap tlieir fingers 
at the Colonial authorities while refitting their ships, disposing 
of their ill-gotten booty, or indulging in their habitual carousals 
on shore. From these conditions came at length a puny settle- 
ment, equally without law, morals, or religion. Such was its 
reputation, that a Colonial order prohibited women from living 
on any one of the islands. 

A legend is of course associated with tlie record declaring 
these islands to have been the resort of freebooters. Kidd is 
supposed to have buried immense treasure here ; and as if to con- 
firm the story, the ghost of one of his men, who was slain for 
its protection, was always firmly believed by the fishermen to 
haunt Appledore. At one time nothing would have induced 
the inhabitant of another island to land upon this after night- 
fall, although there was mucli search made for the treasure that 
the spectre was supposed to guard. One islander, indeed, had 



ISLES-OF-SHOALS LEGENDS. 347 

really encountered the grisly shade while making its solitary 
round, and he described it as shedding a dimly limiinous and 
unearthly appearance, like that of a glow-worm, as it walked, 
and as having a face paje and very dreadful to look upon. 

For a time, wdiile the fishery flourished, the islands enjoyed a 
kind of prosperity ; but those clergymen who, like the Eeverend 
John Tucke, went into a voluntary exile here, to become fishers 
of men, might truly be said to have cast their lines in stony 
places. Yet with unabated zeal the good Father Tucke perse- 
vered in the effort to reform the morals of his charge, to watch 
over their spiritual welfare, and to bring them into something 
like accord with the idea of a civilized community, until they 
carried him from the little church on the ledge down into the 
hollow, and there laid him away to his rest. 

Sometimes the minister would see his entire congregation rush 
out of the meeting-house in the middle of the sermon because, 
it being a good lookout, some of the men liad caught sight of a 
school of mackerel in the offing. Sometimes, when to make his 
image more impressively real he used sea terms to describe the 
condition of the unregenerate sinners before him, and put the 
question bluntly, " What, my friends, wuuld you do in such a 
case ? " some rough sea-dog would retort, " Square away and scud 
for Squam ! " — that being their customary refuge when over- 
taken at sea by a northeaster. Both ]\Iather and Hubbard 
give numerous instances of the " memorable providences " over- 
taking these dissolute and godless fishermen in the midst of 
their carousals. Let us now give one illustrating the efficacy 
of prayer. 

In his " Magnalia Christi " Mather relates this incident : — A 
child of one Arnold lay sick, — so nearly dead that it was judged 
to be really dead. Mr. Brock (the minister), perceiving some 
life in it, goes to prayer ; and in his prayer was this expression : 
" Lord, wilt thou not grant some sign, before we leave prayer, 
that thou wdlt spare and heal this child % "We cannot leave 
thee till wt have it." The child sneezed immediately. 

On account of the isolation which left them to the mercy of 



348 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

the enemy's cruisers, the islands were nearly depopulated during 
the time of the Eevolution. After this the few inhabitants who 
remained lived in a deplorable condition of ignorance and vice. 
Some of them lost their ages for want of a record. The town 
organization was abandoned, and the settlement at Star Island 
relapsed into its old half-barbarous way of life. Men and women 
lived openly together without the form of marriage. Finally some 
of the more depraved pulled down and burned the old meeting- 
house, which had so long beeta a prominent landmark for seamen ; 
and the parsonage might have shared a similar fate, had it not, 
like the ark, been launched and floated over to the mainland out 
of harm's way. 

But enough of this rude chronicle. Emerging from the 
shadow into the sun, the islands became in time noted for their 
healtlifulness ; and presently, when the light-keeper, who had 
hitherto lived here like a hermit, took courage and established 
a boarding-house on Appledore, they drew a constantly increas- 
ing number of visitors, who affirmed the Isles of Shoals to be 
the most idiosyncratic watering-place in the Union. Since 
then they have been celebrated in song and story. Every 
nook and alcove has been ransacked to procure materials for 
history, legend, or romance ; and finally little or nothing except 
the ancient tombstones, the little Gosport church, and some rude 
walls, declare the presence here of a different generation, who 
were rocked in the cradle of the deep, and who now slumber 
in its embrace. 

0^ STAR ISLAND. 

SARAH O. JEWETT. 

High on the lichened ledges, like 

A lonely sea-fowl on its perch 
Blown by the cold sea-winds, it stands, 

Old Gosport's quaint forsaken church. 

No sign is left of all the town 
Except a few forgotten graves ; 



ON STAE ISLAND. 349 

But to and fro the white sails go 
Slowly across the glittering waves ; 

And summer idlers stray about 

With curious questions of the lost 
And vanished village, and its men, 

Whose boats by these same waves were tossecL 



Their eyes on week-days sought the church, • 
Their surest landmark, and the guide 

That led them in from far at sea. 
Until they anchored safe beside 

The harbor wall that braved the storm 
With its resistless strength of stone. 

Those busy Ushers all are gone : 
The church is standing here alone. 

But still I hear their voices strange, 

And stiR I see the people go 
Over the ledges to theii- homes, — 

The bent old women's footsteps slow ; 

The faithful parson stop to give 
Some timely word to one astray ; 

The little children hurrying on 
Together, chattering of their play. 

I know the blue sea covered some ; 

And others in the rocky ground 
Found narrow lodgings for their bones — 

God grant their rest is sweet and sound ! 

I saw the worn rope idle hang 
Beside me in the belfry brown ; 

I gave the bell a solemn toll — 
I rang the knell for Gosport town. 



350 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



A LEGEND OF BLACKBEARD. 

THE various legends relative to tlie corsaii's, and the secret- 
ing of their ill-gotten gains among these rocks, would of 
themselves occupy a long chapter ; and the recital of the 
fearful sights ami sounds which have confronted such as were 
hardy enough to seek f.ir hidden treasure, would satisfy the most 
inveterate marvelmonger in the land. 

Among othei's to whom it is said these islands were known 
was the celebrated Captain Teach, or Blackheard, as he was often 
called. He is supposed to have buried immense treasure here, 
some of which has been dug up and appropriated by the is- 
landers. On one of his cruises, while lying off the Scottish coast 
waiting for a rich trader, he was boarded by a stranger, who 
came off in a small boat from the sliore. The new-comer 
demanded to be led before the pirate chief, in whose cabin he 
remained some time shut up. At length Teach appeared on 
deck with the stranger, whom he introduced to the crew as a 
comrade. The vessel they were expecting soon came in sight ; 
and after a bloody conflict she became the prize of Blackheard. 
It Avas determined by the corsair to man and arm the captured 
vessel. The unknown had fought with undaunted bravery dur- 
ing the battle, and to him was given the command of the prize. 

The stranger Scot was not long in gaining the bad eminence 
of being as good a pirate as his renowned commander. His 
crew thought him inviucil)le, and followed wherever he led. 
At last, after his appetite for wealth had been satisfied by the 
rich booty of the Southern seas, he arrived on the coast of his 
native land. His boat was manned, and landed him on the 
beach near an humble dwelling, whence he soon returned, bear- 
ing in his arms the lifeless form of a woman. 

The pirate ship immediately set sail for America ; and in due 
time dropped her anchor in the road of the Isles of Shoals. 



A LEGEND OF BLACKBEARD. 



351 



Here the crew passed their time in secreting their riches and in 
carousal. The commander's portion was buried on an island 




CAPTAIN TEACH, OR BLACKBEAED. 



apart from the rest. He roamed over the isles with his beautiful 
companion, forgetful, it would seem, of his fearful trade, until 
one morning a sail was discovered standin<? in for the islands. 



352 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

All was now activity on board the pirate ; but before getting 
under way the outlaw carried the maiden to the island where he 
had buried his treasure, and then made her take a fearful oath 
to guard the spot from mortals until his return, were it till 
Doomsday. He then put to sea. 

The strange sail proved to be a warlike vessel in search of the 
freebooter. A long and desperate battle ensued, in which the 
King's cruiser at last silenced her adversary's guns. The vessels 
were grappled for a last struggle, when a terrihc explosion 
strewed the sea with the fragments of both. Stung to madness 
by defeat, and knowing that if taken alive the gibbet awaited 
him, the rover had fired the magazine, involving friend and foe 
in a common fate. 

A few mangled wretches succeeded in reaching the islands, 
only to perish miserably, one by one, from cold and hunger. 
Tlie pirate's mistress remained true to her oath to the last, or 
until she also succumbed to want and exposure. By report, she 
has been seen more than once on White Island, — a tall, shapely 
figure, wrapped in a long sea-cloak, her head and neck uncovered 
except by a profusion of golden liair. Her face is described as 
exquisitely rounded, but pale and still as marble. She takes her 
stand on tlie verge of a low projecting point, gazing fixedly out 
upon the ocean in an attitude of intense expectation. A former 
race of fishermen avouched that her ghost was doomed to haunt 
those rocks until the last trump shall sound, and that the ancient 
graves to be found on the islands were tenanted by Blackbeard's 
men. 



THE SPANISH WRECK. 

Wo betide any ship that was driven among these islands 
before the lighthouse warned the mariner how to steer 
clear of them ! Engulfed in pitch darkness, the doomed vessel 
bore steadily down upon an unseen danger, whose first warning 



THE SPANISH WEECK. • 353 

was the shock that snapped her masts asunder like dry twigs, and 
that crushed in her stout timbers like egg-shells. The waves 
and the rocks then finished their work of destruction. Such a 
scene of horror, with its dismal sequel of suffering and death, 
enacting while the islanders lay fast asleep in their beds, is that 
of the unknown Spanish wreck. 

This wreck took place on Smutty-Nose Island in January, 
1813, according to the Gosport records, wliich give the ill-fated 
vessel's name as the " Sagunto." Fourteen rude graves count 
the number of bodies that were recovered, and buried in a little 
plot together. " There is no inscription on the rude bowlders 
at the head and foot of these graves. A few more years, and all 
trace of them will he obliterated." 

Although the ship " Sagunto " was not stranded here, as the 
record incorrectly states, the wreck of a large vessel either Spanish 
or Portuguese, with every soul on board, remains a terrible fact, 
only too well attested by these graves. The " Sagunto," it is 
known, after a stormy voyage, made her port in safety. But the 
horror of the event is deepened by tliat word " unknown." The 
name of the ship, who were her captain and crew, are all swal- 
lowed up at the same instant of time. 

It was in the height of a blinding snow-storm and a gale that 
strewed the coast from Hatteras to the Penobscot with wrecks, 
that a ship built of cedar and mahogany was thrown upon these 
rocks. Not a living soul was left to tell the tale of that bitter 
January night. The ill-fated craft was richly laden, for boxes 
of raisins and almonds from Malaga drifted on shore the next 
morning. No clew to the ship or crew was found, except a 
silver watch, with the letters " P. S." engraved upon the seals, 
and some letters which came on shore with the wreckage. The 
watch had stopped at exactly four o'clock, while those on the 
island ticked on. 

One account says that part of the crew were thrown upon the 
rocks more dead than alive, and that, seeing a light shining 
through the storm, some of them crawled toward it ; but they 
were too far spent to reach the kindly shelter it announced. 

23 



354 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

" The roaring of the storm bore away their faint cries of distress ; 
the old man slept on quietly, with his family about him, — shel- 
tered, safe, — while, a stone's throw from his door, these sailors 
strove to reach that friendly light. Two of them gained the 
stone wall in front of the house ; but their ebbing strength would 
not allow them to climb over." Their stifiened bodies, half 
buried in the falling snow, were found hanging over it in the 
morning. 

This is the story of this little clump of graves, and of the 
wreck that is to this clay unknown. Mrs. Celia Thaxter tells 
it in verse with much feeling ; for to her such scenes are not 
unfamiliar, nor are the dangers of these inhospitable isles things 
of the imagination. 

THE SPANIARDS' GEAVES AT THE ISLES OF SHOALS. 

CELTA THAXTER. 

O SAILORS, did sweet eyes look after you, 

The day you sailed away from sunny Spain ? — 
Bright eyes that followed fading ship and crew, 
Melting in tender rain? 

Did no one dream of that drear night to be, 

Wild with the wind, fierce with the stinging snow, 
When, on yon granite point that frets the sea. 
The ship met her death-blow 1 

Fifty long years ago these sailors died : 

None know how many sleep beneath the waves ; 
Fourteen gray headstones, rising side by side, 
Point out their nameless graves, — 

Lonely, unknown, deserted, but for me 

And the wild birds that flit with mournful cry, 
And sadder winds, and voices of the sea 
That moans perpetually. 



BOON ISLAND. 355 

O Spanish women, over the far seas, 

Could I but show you where yovir dead repose ! 
Could I send tidings on this northern breeze, 
That strong and steady blows ! 

Dear dark-eyed sisters, you remembe~r yet 

These you have lost ; but you can never know 
One stands at their bleak graves wliose eyes are wet 
With thinking of your wo 1 



BOON ISLAND. 

EVEN the Isles of Shoals liave their outlying picket. The 
solitary gray shaft of Boon-Island Lighthouse, shooting 
liigh up out of the sea, is by day a conspicuous object anywhere 
between York Eiver and Cape Neddock ; and by night its light 
is a star shining brightly amid the waste of waters. This island, 
with its outlying ledges, long had the worst reputation among 
sailors of any that endanger the navigation of our eastern coasts, — 
until the erection of a lighthouse here in 1811, upon the larger 
rock, robbed the place of some of its terrors. Its name goes 
back as far as 1630, thus disposing of the local traditions asso- 
ciating it with the wreck of the "Nottingham Galley," which 
occurred nearly a century later. 

As the seas in great storms break completely over it, driving 
the inmates to the upper story of the shaft, one is lost in won- 
der to think that this barren rock, scarcely elevated above the 
waves, was for nearly a month, and in the heart of winter, the 
melancholy refuge of a shipwrecked crew, whose strength daily 
wasted away while they were in full sight of the friendly shore 
they could not reach. 

The follo\ving is all that can be learned concerning the inci- 
dent commemorated in Mrs. Thaxter's verses : " Long ago, Avhen 
Ughtbo.uses were not so well manned as now, * two lovers, lately 



356 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

wed,' went out to keep the light on this perilous reef. In a 
great storm in the heginning of winter the husband suddenly 
died ; and the bereaved wife kept the light burning three nights, 
till the storm lulled, and then left it unkindled as a signal of 
distress. There was no human creature on the rock except 
themselves." 

THE WATCH OF BOO^ ISLAND. 

CELIA THAXTER. 

They crossed the lonely and lamenting sea ; 

Its moaning seemed but singing. " Wilt thou dare," 
He asked her, " brave the loneliness with me?" 

" What loneliness," she said, " if thou art there ? " 

Afar and cold on the horizon's rim 

Loomed the tall lighthouse, like a ghostly sign ; 

They sighed not as the shore behind grew dim, — 
A rose of joy they bore across the biine. 

They gained the barren rock, and made their home 
Among the wild waves and the sea-birds wild. 

The wintry winds blew fierce across the foam ; 
But in each other's eyes they looked and smiled. 

Aloft the lighthouse sent its warnings wide. 

Fed by their faithful hands ; and ships in sight 

With joy beheld it ; and on land men cried, 

" Look, clear and steady burns Boon Island Light ! " 

Death found them ; turned his face and passed her by, 

But laid a finger on her lover's lips ; 
And there was silence. Then the storm ran high, 

And tossed and troubled sore the distant ships. 

Nay, who shall speak the terrors of the night, 
The speechless sorrow, the supreme despair ? 

Still like a ghost she trimmed the waning light, 
Dragging her slow weight up the winding stair. 



THE GEAVE OF CHAMPERNOWNE. 357- 

Three times the iiiglit, too terrible to bear, 
Descended, shrouded in the storm. At last 

The sun rose clear and still on her despair, 
And all her striving to the winds she cast, 

And bowed her head, and let the light die out. 
For the wide sea lay calm as her dead love. 

When evening fell, from the far land, in doubt, 
Vainly to find that faithful star men strove. 

Out from the coast toward her high tower they sailed ; 

They found her watching, silent, by her dead, — 
A shadowy woman, who nor wept nor wailed. 

But answered what they spake, till all was said. 



THE GRAVE OF CHAMPERNOWNE. 

ON Gerrish's Island, at the mouth of the Piseataqua River, 
there is a rude heap of stones marking, according to tra- 
dition, the last resting-place of Francis Champernowne, a former 
owner and resident of this island. Tradition further says he 
forbid that any monument should be raised to his memory, 
although he was of gentle blood, a nephew of the famous Sir 
Ferdinando Gorges, and a man of much personal worth and dis- 
tinction. (See " Nooks and Corners of the New England Coast," 
p. 149, and notes.) 

Thomas de Cambernon for Hastings' field 
Left Normandy ; his tower saw him no more ! 

And no crusader's warhorse, plumed and steeled. 
Paws the grass now at Modbury's blazoned door ; 

No lettered marble nor ancestral shield, — 

Where all the Atlantic shakes the lonesome shore, 

Lies ours forgotten : only cobble-stones 

To tell us where are Champernowne's poor bones. 

John Elwyn. 



358 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

YORK, MAINE. 
AGAMENTICUS. 

ANONYMOUS. 

Where rises grand, majestic, tall, 
As in a dream, the towering wall 

That scorns the restless, surging tide. 
Once spanned the mart and street and mall, 

And arched the trees on every side 

Of this great city, once in j)ride. 
For hither came a knightly train 

From o'er the sea with gorgeous court ; 
The mayors, gowned in robes of state, 
Held brilliant tourney on the plain, 

And massive ships within the port 

Discharged their load of richest freight. 
Then when at night, the sun gone down 

Behind the western hill and tree. 
The bowls were filled, — thi« toast they crown, 

" Long live the City by the Sea ! " 

Now sailless drift the lonely seas, 
No shallops load at wharves or quays, 

But hulks are strewn along the shore, — 
Gaunt skeletons indeed are these 

That lie enchanted by the roar 

Of ocean wave and sighing trees ! 
Oh, tell me where the pompous squires, , 

The chant at eve, the matin prayers, 
The knights in armor for the fray ? 
The mayors, where, and courtly sires, 

The eager traders with their wares, — 
How went these people hence away ? 
And when the evening sun sinks down, 

Weird voices come from hill and tree, 
Yet tell no tales, — this toast they crown, 

" Long live the Spectre by the Sea I " 



SAINT ASPENQUID OF AGAMENTIGUS. 359 



SAINT ASPENQUID OF AGAMENTIGUS. 

MOUNT Agamenticus, the locality of the following legend, 
is the commanding landmark for sixty miles up and 
down tlie neighboring coast. The name has the true martial 
ring in it. This mountain rears its giant back on the border of 
Maine, almost at the edge of the sea, into which, indeed, it seems 
advancing. Its form is at once graceful, robust, and imposing. 
Nature posted it here. It gives a character to tlie whole region 
that surrounds it, over which it stands guard. Nature endowed 
it with a purpose. It meets the mariner's eye far out to sea, 
and tells him how to steer safely into his destined port. 

In his " Pictures from Appledore," the poet Lowell makes this 
reference to the sailor's mountain : — 

He glowers there to the north of us 
Wrapt in his mantle of blue haze, 
Uiiconvertibly savage, and scorns to take 
The white man's baptism on his ways. 
Him first on shore the coaster divines 
Through the early gray, and sees him shake 
The UKjrning mist from his scalp-lock of pines : 
Him first the skipper makes out in the west, 
Ere the earliest sunstraak shoots trenmlous, 
Plashing with orange the palpitant lines 
Of mutable billow, crest after crest, 
And murmurs Agamaticus ! 
As if it were the name of a saint. 

The name is in fact a legacy of the Indians who dwelt at its 
foot, and who always invested the mountain with a sacred char- 
acter. From tlais circumstance comes the Indian legend of Saint 
Aspenquid, whom some writers have identified with the patri- 
arch Passaconaway, the hero of so many wonderful exploits in 
healing and in necromancy. 



360 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

According to the little we are able to recover concerning him, 
Saint Aspenqiiid was born in 1588, and was nearly one hundred 
years old when he died. He was convei'ted to Christianity — 
possibly by the French Jesuits — and baptized by this name 
when he was about forty years old ; and he at once set about his 
long and active ministration among the people of his own race, 
to whom he became a tutelary saint and prophet. For forty 
years he is said to have wandered from east to west and from 
north to south, preaching the gospel to sixty-six different na- 
tions, healing the sick, and performing those miracles which 
raised him in tlie estimation of his own people to the character 
of a prophet appointed by Heaven, and in that of the whites to 
a being endowed witli supernatural powers. These wanderings 
had carried him from the shores of the Atlantic to the Califor- 
nian Sea. Grown venerable in his good work, warned that he 
must soon be gathered to his fathers, the saint at last came home 
to die among his own people. Having called all the sachems of 
the different tribes together to attend his solemn funeral obse- 
quies, they carried the body of their patriarch to the summit of 
Mount Agamenticus. Previous to performing the rite of sepul- 
ture, and agreeable to the custom held sacred by these people, 
the hunters of each tribe spread themselves throughout the for- 
ests. A great number of wild beasts were slaughtered as a sac- 
rifice to the manes of the departed saint. Tradition affirms that 
on that day were slain and offered- up between six and seven 
thousand wild animals, — from the bear, the buffalo, and the 
moose, down to the porcupine, the woodchuck, and the Aveasel. 

SAINT ASPENQUID. 

JOHN ALBEE. 

The Indian hero, sorcerer, and saint, 
Known in the land as Passaconaway, 
And after called the good Saint Aspenquid, 
Returning, travel worn and spent with age 
From vain attempt to reconcile his race 



SAINT ASPENQUID OF AGAMENTICUS. 361 

With ours, sent messengers throughout the East 

To summon all the blood-bound tribes to him ; 

For that upon the ancient meeting-place, 

The sacred mountain Agamenticus, 

When next the moon should show a new-bent bow, 

He there would celebrate his funeral feast 

With sacrifices due and farewell talk. 

The dusky people heard and they obeyed ; 

For known was Aspenquid in all the camps, — 

Known was his name where unknown was his face ;. 

His conjuries, his valor, and his wit 

The trackless forests traversed many a year, 

And made his name a word of omen there. 

Then gathered they from all the hither land 

Of Avide St. Lawrence and the northern lakes, 

The warriors of the great Alsjonkin race. 



The feast was ended : bird and beast were slain 
(Three thousand, so the ancient annals say) ; 
The dance was danced ; and every rite performed ;, 
And gathered round the summit of the mount 
The stately, silent sachems stood intent 
On Aspenquid. He over all was tall 
And straight as ash, though ripe with ninety years^ 
He rose majestic on the sovereign top 
Of his own land, and in that solemn hour 
He seemed to tower above his wonted height 
As towers in midmost air the stricken bird. 
His locks were thin, but raven black and long ; 
Nor yet his eyes had lost their splendid dark. 
But glowed deep set beneath a low, broad brow. 
Unpinched by age, his face was firm, and bronzed 
Like leaves that hang all winter on the oak. 

" Warriors and braves, come nearer to your chief I 
My eyes, that once could brook the midday sun. 
And see the eagle ere myself was seen, 
Are dimmed with age ; and but a pace beyond 
A misty light seems settled over all. 



362 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Come nearer, braves, that I may feast my eyea 
On your young limbs, on what myself once was ! 

My race decays, and I have lived too long ; 

My limbs with ninety weary winters' strife 

Are spent ; my lathers call me unto them. 

I go to comfort their impatient shades, 

And respite find for all my own mischance. 

And here once more on Agamenticus, 

My old ancestral powwow's sacred seat, 

That saw the waters burn and trees to dance. 

And winter's withered leaves grow green again, 

And in dead serpent's skin the living coil, 

While they themselves would change themselves to flame j 

And where not less did I myself conjure 

The mighty magic of my fathers' rites 

Against my foe, — yet all without effect ; 

The spirits also flee where white men come. 

I turn to join my kindred sagamores. 

And fly before the doom I could not change. 

Light not the fires of vengeance in your hearts, 

For sure the flame will turn against yourselves, 

And you will perish utterly from earth. 

Nor yet submit too meekly, but maintain 

The valorous name once ours in happy days. 

Be prudent, wise, and always slow to strike. 

Fall back ; seek other shores and hunting-grounds, — 

I cannot bear you perish utterly ! 

Though, looking through the melancholy years, 

I see the end, but turn ray face away. 

So heavy are my eyes with unshed tears ; 

And yours too I would turn, warriors and braves ! 

And mind not my prophetic vision much, — 

Th' unhappy gift of him who lives too long ; 

But mind the counsel many years have taught, 

The last I give : remember it, and live ! " 



pan Zenti). 
OLD-COLONY LEGENDS. 




HANGING BY PROXY. 



IN" his " New English Canaan," first published at London in 
1632, Thomas Morton, the dispossessed and exiled planter 
of Mount Wollaston, alias Merry Mount, relates the droll 
doings " Of a Parliament held at Wessaguscus." Wessaguscus 
is now Weymouth, Mass. It was first settled by a trad- 
ing company sent out by Thomas Weston, — a London mer- 
chant with whom the Plymouth Pilgrims had had some 
dealings, but whose present enterprise they regarded with no 
particular favor. This Morton is a character about Avhich there 
are at least two opinions : the one generally received being that 
he was a lawless, dissolute, reckless, and able scamp, who led 
a vagabond life among vagabond followers; whence Hubbard 
styles him "lord of misrule." There is no question that the 
Pilgrims looked upon him as a dangerous neighbor, or that 
he regarded them with unconcealed aversion and disdain. So 
far as he was anything, he was a Churchman ; while they were 
out-and-out Separatists. He used the Book of Common Prayer ; 
they abhorred and rejected it. He calls them ironically the 
"Brethren;" they term him "pettifogger" and "atheist." 
Such opposite views in morals and government were not long 
coming into collision. 

Morton was, however, a man of education and ability, — ■ which 
by no means proves that he was not all the Pilgrims allege him 



366 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

to have been, — an unprincipled adventurer. Taking his " New 
English Canaan " as the index of his character, one reads at 
every few lines some evidence of his strong predilection for a 
life of indolence and pleasure. His idea was to establish an 
Arcadia, with the natives as his vassals. He restored the Old- 
English holiday customs, which the Puritans considered idola- 
trous, and which they had prohibited among themselves. He 
rechristened his plantation of Mount Wollaston by the name of 
Merry Mount, with the old May-Day ceremonies of wine, wassail, 
and the dance around the May-pole, to celebrate the change. He 
composed riddles in verse addressed to his followers that show 
an equal familiarity with classical lore and with the debased 
manners of the court wits and rhymesters of the day. He 
furnished the Indians with firearms to hunt for him, which 
they soon learned to use against their masters. Taking the 
alarm, the outraged Pilgrims seized and shipped Morton a pris- 
oner to England, without law or other warrant than the " higher 
law" that might makes right; and it was while smarting under 
the sense of injury that Morton wrote this most entertaining 
account of his personal adventures in the New English Canaan. 

This brings us back to Morton's story of how justice was 
administered at that early day in New England, notably at the 
plantation of Wessaguscus. It is no fault of Morton that the 
tale has grown since leaving his capable hands. But to him 
belongs the honor of having first set it down in black and 
white. He says : — 

" Master Weston's plantation being settled at Wessaguscus, his 
servants, or many of them, being lazy persons that would use no 
endeavor to take the benefit of the country, some of them fell sick 
and died. 

" One among the rest, an able-bodied man that ranged the forest 
to see what it would afford him, stumbled by accident on an Indian 
granary, concealed, as the custom was with those people, under- 
ground ; and from it he took a capful of corn, and then went his 
way. The Indian owner, finding by the footprint that the thief 
was an Englishman, came and made his complaint at the plantation. 



HANGING BY PROXY. 367 

"The chief commander of the company immediately called to- 
gether a parliament of all those who were not sick, to hear and 
determine the cause of complaint. And wisely now," continues 
Morton, with playful irony, "they should consult upon this huge 
complaint, that a knife or a string of beads would well enough have 
disposed of, Edward Johnson being made a special judge of this 
business. The fact was there in repetition, construction made that 
it was a felony, and by the laws of England punished with death ; 
and this in execution must be put for an example, and likewise to 
appease the savage ; when straightway one arose, moved as it were 
with some compassion, and said he could not well gainsay the former 
sentence, yet he had conceived within the compass of his brain an 
Embrion (an unborn child) that was of special consequence to be 
delivered and cherished. He said that it would most aptly serve to 
pacify the savage's complaint, and save the life of one that might 
(if need should be) stand them in some good stead, being j^oung and 
strong, fit for resistance against an enemy, which might come un- 
expected for anything they knew. 

" This oration was liked by every one ; and the orator was en- 
treated to show how this end might be reached. He went on : — 

" Says he, ' You all agree that one must die, and one shall die. This 
young man's clothes we will take off, and put upon one that is old and 
impotent, — a sickly person that cannot escape death; such is the 
disease on him confirmed, tliat die lie must : put the young man's 
clothes on this man, and let the sick person be hanged in the other's 
stead.' ' Amen,' says one ; and so say many more. 

" And this had like to have proved their final sentence, and being 
there confirmed by Act of Parliament to after-ages for a precedent, 
but that one with a ravenous voice began to croak and bellow for 
revenge, and put by that conclusive motion, alleging that such 
deceits might be a means hereafter to exasperate the minds of the 
complaining savages, and that by his death the savages should see 
their zeal to do justice ; and therefore he should die. This was con- 
cluded. Yet, nevertheless, a scruple was made ; now to counter- 
mand this act did represent itself unto their minds, which was how 
they should do to get the man's good-will. This was indeed a special 
obstacle, for without (that they all agreed) it would be dangerous 
for any man to attempt the execution of it, lest mischief should be- 
fall them, every man. He was a person, that in his wrath did seem 
to be a second Samson, able to beat out their brains with the jawbone 



.368 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

of an ass. Therefore they called the man, and by persuasion got 
him fast bound in jest, and then hanged him up hard by in good 
earnest, who with a weapon, and at liberty, would have put all these 
wise judges of this parliament to a pitiful non 2)lus (as it hath been 
credibly reported), and jnade the chief judge of them all buckle 
to him." 

This is Morton's own narration. The actual culprit, lie de- 
clares, was really hanged, in spite of the ingenious proposal to 
hang up another man in his stead, which at first had tickled the 
fancy of the parliament. As if to corroborate the story, Brad- 
ford tells us that these Wessaguscus planters Avere fain to hang 
one of their men whom they could not reclaim from stealing, in 
order to give the Indians content. 

Morton's story is generally admitted to be the foundation for 
Butler's mirth-provoking one in " Hudibras," which appeared 
.thirty years later, to delight the Avorld with its incomparable 
drollery and satire. The satirist, whom nothing escaped, there 
puts it into the mouth of Ealpho, Avho is endeav(n'ing in a 
most Jesuitical way to clear away his master's scruples in regard 
to the flagellation he had promised to undergo for his lady's 
sake, but was disposed to avoid. The squire artfully debates 
ihe point of honor involved : — - 

Though nice and dark the point appear, 
Quoth Ralph, it may hold up and clear. 
That sinners may supply the place 
Of suffering saints, is a plain case. 
Justice gives sentence many times 
On one man for another's crimes. 
Our brethren of New England use 
Choice malefactors to excuse. 
And hang the guiltless in their stead, 
Of whom the churches have less need. 
As lately 't happened ; in a town 
There liv'd a cobbler, and but one 
That out of doctrine could cut use. 
And mend men's lives as well as shoes. 



HANGING BY PROXY. 369 

This precious brother having slain, 
In time of peace, an Indian, 
Not out of malice, but mere zeal. 
Because he was an infidel, 
The mighty Tottipottinioy 
Sent to our elders an envoy, 
Comj^laining sorely of the breach 
Of league, held i'ovih by brother Patch, 
Against the articles in force 
Between both churches, his and ours. 
But they maturely having weigh'd 
They had no more but him o' th' trade, 
A man that serv'd them in a double 
Capacity to teach and cobble, 
Resolv'd to spare him ; yet to do 
The Indian Hoghan Moghan too 
Impartial justice, in his stead did 
Hang an old weaver that was bedrid. 

In the author's notes to the early editions of "Hudibras" the 
story is asserted to be true. Hubbanl repeats it with the quali- 
fication that the hanging was only pretended, although he had 
seen the extract we have given from Bradford ; and he had 
also read and enjoyed the manner " Avith which the merry gen- 
tleman that wrote ' Hudibras ' did in his poetical fancy make 
so much sport." 

That in one form or another the story now became current as 
true, is no longer a matter of doubt. We next discover it in 
a different dress, related with much gusto by Governor Dudley to 
Captain Uring, and printed at length in the latter's "Voyages." 
It will be seen that the anecdote has lost nothing by passing from 
mouth to mouth. This is Governor Dudley's version : 

"One day, while a carpenter was cutting do^vn a tree, and a 
crowd of Indians stood around, watching every blow with the greatest 
attention, the tree fell on one of them who did not get out of the 
way, killing him on the spot. The other Indians set up a great 
howling over the dead body, while the frightened carpenter ran and 
hid himself to escape their vengeance ; for they foolishly thought 

24 



370 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

him. to blame for the death of their companion. The English tried 
to persuade them that the carpenter was not at fault; but nothing 
short of his death would pacify them. They demanded that he 
should be given iip to them for execution. Seeing them thus en- 
raged, and fearhig that they might fall upon and destroy them, the 
English finally promised to hang the unlucky carpenter themselves. 
The Indians were told to come the next morning, and they would 
see him hanging from a particular tree. But the carpenter being a 
young and lust}^ fellow, and very useful, they concluded they could 
not spare him ; and there being in the fort an old bedridden weaver 
who had not long to live, he was taken out to the tree and quietly 
hanged in the room of the carpenter, to the entire satisfaction of the 
Indians, who did not detect the cheat, and who became good friends 



THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 

THE touch of nature to "which all yield, has no higher exem- 
plification than in those simple ballads of home and its 
associations that have made the names of Payne and Woodworth 
immortal. One does not care to analj'^ze his sensations ; he 
forgets the homely phrase ; he feels, and is deeply affected by 
the awakening of those memories which carry him back to the 
days of his happy and innocent childhood ; he is a child again. 
This secret, yet powerful chord was struck by Samuel Wood- 
worth in his " Old Oaken Bucket ; " and it has not yet ceased to 
vibrate a tender harmony whenever that masterpiece of human 
emotion is spoken or sung. 

Dear old " Goldy " has well expressed that inextinguishable 
yearning for the spot of ground we call "home" in these touch- 
ing lines : — 

In all my wanderings round this world of care. 
In all my griefs, — and God has given my share, — 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past. 
Here to return, and die at home at last. 



THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 371 

What are those endearing scenes which in the " Old Oaken. 
Bucket " find their counterpart in the memory of thousands 1 

The town of Scituate, Massachusetts, one of the most ancient 
of the Old Colony, joins Cohasset on the south. Its history is 
memorable and interesting. The people come of a hardy and 
determined ancestry, who fought for every inch of ground that 
their descendants now hold. To this fact may perhaps be re- 
ferred the strength of those associations, clinging like ivy around 
some of the most notable of the ancient homesteads. To bor- 
row from Mr. ]N"ason : " The scene so vividly described in Mr. 
Woodworth's charming lyric is a little valley through which 
Herring Brook pursues its devious way to meet the tidal waters 
of North Eiver. The view of it from Coleman Heights, with 
its neat cottages, its maple-groves and apple-orchards, is remark- 
ably beautiful. The 'wide-spreading pond,' the 'mill,' the 

* dairy-house,' the ' rock where the cataract fell,' and even tlie 

* old well,' if not the ' moss-covered bucket ' itself, may still be 
seen just as the poet described them." 

Among these scenes Samuel Woodworth, the people's poet, 
was born and reared. Althougli the house is no longer there, 
many pilgrims stop at its modern successor in order to slake 
their thirst at the Avaters, the recollection of which gave the poet 
such exquisite pleasure in after years. One would still have the 
surroundings unchanged, — the cot where he dwelt, the pon- 
derous well-sweep, creaking with age, that his youthful hands 
tugged feebly at ; and, finally, the mossy bucket overflowing 
with crystal nectar fresh from the cool depths below. But since 
changes will come to transform the picture, tlie susceptible vis- 
itor must be content to quafi" a draught of purest water to the 
memory of one of the kindliest poets that our New England soil 
has produced. 

To this rapid sketch of the scene we may now add the history 
of the popular ballad, " The Old Oaken Bucket." The circum- 
stances under which it was composed and written — and they 
embody a moral as well as consecrate a memory — are said to 
be as foUows : — 







THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 



THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 373 

Samuel Woodworth was a printer, wlio had served his appren- 
ticeship under the veteran Major Kussell, of "The Columbian 
Centinel," a journal which was in its day the leading Federalist 
organ of New England. He had inherited the wandering propen- 
sity of his class ; yielding to which he in due time removed first 
to Hartford, and then to New York, where, after an unsuccessful 
career as a publisher, he became associated with Morris as one 
of the founders of " The Mirror." It was while he was living 
in New York, and after many vicissitudes had tempered the 
enthusiasm of his youth, that, in company with some brother 
printers, he one day dropped in at a well-known establishment, 
then kept by Mallory, to take a social glass with them. The 
cognac was pronounced excellent. After tasting it, Woodworth 
set his glass down on the table, and smacking his lips, declared 
emphatically that Mallory's eau de vie was superior to anything 
that he had ever tasted. 

" There you are mistaken," said one of his comrades quietly ; 
then adding, "there certainly was one thing that far surpassed 
this in the way of drinking, as you, too, will readily acknowledge 
when you hear it." 

" Indeed ; and pray what was that "i " Woodworth asked, with 
apparent incredulity that anything could surpass the liquor then 
before him. 

"The draught of pure and sparkling spring water that we 
used to get from the old oaken bucket that hung in the well, 
after our return from the labors of the field on a sultry summer's 
day." 

No one spoke ; all were busy with tlieir own thoughts. 

A tear-drop glistened for a moment in Wood worth's eye. "True, 
true," he exclaimed ; and soon after quitted the place. With a 
heart overflowing with the recollections that this chance allusion 
in a bar-room had inspired, the scene of his happier childhood 
life rushed upon him in a flood of feeling. He hastened back 
to the office in which he then worked, seized a pen, and in half 
an hour had written the popular ballad which follows. Wood- 
worth died in 1842, at the age of fifty-seven. His reputation 



374 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

rests upon this one stroke of genius. He never wrote anything 
better than this beautiful lyric, Avhich is capable of hushing the 
most boisterous assemblies into silence, — such is the homage 
that all instinctively pay to the purest and holiest of human 
associations. 

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 

SAMUEL WOODWORTH. 

How clear to this heart are the scenes of my childliood, 

When fond Recollection presents them to view ! 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood, 

And every loved spot which my infancy knew, — 
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, 

The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; 
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, 

And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well, — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. 
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; 

For often, at noon, when returned from the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, — 

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing ! 

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; 
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 

And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well, — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it. 

As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! 
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it. 

Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. 
And now, far removed from the loved situation. 

The tear of Regret will intrusively swell. 
As Fancy reverts to my father's plantation. 

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well, — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound Ijucket, 
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well. 



DESTRUCTION OF MINOT'S LIGHT. 



375 



T 

separ 



DESTRUCTION OF MINOT'S LIGHT. 

HE dangerous reef stretching far out into the sea from 

Cohasset, so shaggy with kelp and rockweed that each 

•ate rock looks like the head of a monster rising to take 

breath, has acquired a 
fatal celebrity. Many 
a good ship's bones 
lie buried in the 
treacherous sands, or 
whitening among the 
sharp rocks in the oif- 
ing. In the autumnal 
gale of 1849, fully 
one hundred lives 
were sacrificed to its 
fury upon this coast. 
In that gale the ill- 
fated "St. John's," an 
emigrant ship, struck 
here on Cohasset 
Rocks, when within 
sight of her port, and 
became a total wreck. 
Twenty-seven bodies 
were recovered, and 
buried in the village 




THE FIRST MINOT's LIGUTUOUSE. 



376 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

graveyard. Those who have visited the Miiiot's Lighthouse 
only on a summer's day can faintly imagine the fury of a 
wintry storm, or the power with which the seas then dash 
themselves high over the lantern of the tower. The place had 
long been one of terror to mariners, when, aroused by the long 
catalogue of disasters signalling it, the Government in 1849 
began the erection of a lighthouse on Minot's Eock, known to 
be one of the most dangerous of this dangerous shore. It was 
constructed upon the novel, and as it proved the mistaken, idea 
of opposing as little resistance to the free movement of the 
waves as possible. With this view ponderous iron piles were 
sunk deep in the rock, and upon them was built the keeper's 
house and lantern, the floor of the dwelling being thus elevated 
fully forty feet above tlie seas which rolled beneath it. When 
the great storm of April 14, 1851, to which people long referred 
with a shudder, began, Bennet, the keeper, was on shore, the 
lighthouse being then in charge of two assistants. Tlie storm 
steadily increased to a tremendous gale from the northeast, that 
continued with unabated fury throughout the two succeeding 
days. By this time grave apprehensions began to be felt for 
the security of the structure. Tlie last time that the lighthouse 
Avas seen standing was shortly after three o'clock on Wednesday, 
the thiixl day of tlie gale. The weather then became too thick 
to distinguish it ; but tlie lantern was not lighted, as usual, 
during that night, or if lighted, it could not be made out from 
the shore. At an early hour on the following morning the 
keeper, while making his round, found fragments of the resi- 
dence strewed along the beach. Tlie lighthouse with all it con- 
tained had been swept away during that night of fear, and 
no one had been left to tell tlie tale. When the gale had 
spent itself, the great waves were seen tossing in mad glee on 
the spot where it had stood : the beautiful aiirial tower had 
disappeared. 



minot's ledge. 377 

MINOT'S LEDGE, MASS. 

BY FITZ-JAMES o'bRIEN. 

Like spectral hounds across the sky, 
The white clouds scud before the storm ; 
And naked in the howling night 
The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form. 
The waves with slippery fingers clutch 
The massive tower, and climb and fall, 
And, muttering, growl with baflled rage 
Their curses on the sturdy wall. 

Up in the lonely tower he sits, 
The keeper of the crimson light ; 
Silent and awestruck does he hear 
The imprecations of the night ; 
The white spray beats against the panes 
Like some wet ghost that down the air 
Is hunted by a troop of fiends, 
And seeks a shelter anywhere. 

He prays aloud, the lonely man, 

For every soul that night at sea, 

But more than all for that brave boy 

Who used to gayly climb his knee, — 

Young Charlie, with his chestnut hair 

And hazel eye and laughing lip. 

" May Heaven look down," the old man cries, 

" Upon my son, and on his ship ! " 

While thus with pious heart he prays, 
Far in the distance sounds a boom : 
He pauses ; and again there rings 
That sullen thunder through the room. 
A ship upon the shoals to-night ! 
She cannot hold for one half hour ; 
But clear the ropes and grappling-hooks, 
And trust in the Almighty Power ! 



378 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

On the drenched gallery he stands, 

Striving to pierce the solid night : 

Across the sea the red eye throws 

A steady crimson wake of light ; 

And, where it falls upon the waves, 

He sees a human head float by, 

With long drenched curls of chestnut hair, 

And wild, hut fearless hazel eye. 

Out with the hooks ! One mighty fling ! 
Adown the wind the long rope curls. 
Oh ! will it catch ? Ah, dread suspense, 
While the wild ocean wilder whirls ! 
A steady pull ; it tightens now : 
Oh ! his old heart will burst with joy. 
As on the slippery rocks he pulls 
The breathing body of bis boy. 

Still sweep the spectres through the sky ; 
Still scud the clouds before the storm ; 
Still naked in the howling night 
The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form. 
Without, the world is wild with rage ; 
Unkennelled demons are abroad : 
But Avith the father and the son 
Within, there is the peace "of God. 



LEGENDS OF PLYMOUTH ROCK. 

~"VT"0 good American would willingly die without having seen 
-i-N Plymouth Rock. 

There is no certain record of a day upon Avhich all of the 
" Mayflower's " company diseralDarked ; but those having the best 
right to do it fixed the date as the 22d of December, 1620. 

Justly regarded as the most important one in American his- 
tory, the event has been celebrated by some of the most spirited 



LEGENDS OF PLYMOUTH ROCK. 



379 



poems in the language ; and to those who love the old songs — 
and who does not 1 — the stanzas of Felicia Hemans, Pierpont, 
Sigourney, Sprague, and Percival, retain all the freshness and 
inspiration of their childhood's days. 

The honor of having first touched the shore on the ever- 
memorable day is shared hy two claimants. Both are supported 




MAKT CHILTON S LEAP. 



by family tradition. That giving it to John Alden was handed 
down through successive generations, until it was printed in his 
collection of Epitaphs, by the Reverend Timothy Alden, D.D., 
a lineal descendant of John, and thus obtained a permanent 
record. 



380 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

The second claimant is Mary Chilton, a maiden who subse- 
quently became the wife of John Winslow of Plymouth, and 
the mother of a large family inheriting the most distinguished 
traits of the Pilgrims, with an honorable name. The husband 
of Mary Chilton removed after a time from the Old Colony to 
Boston, where the family tomb, with its arms, may be seen in 
King's Chapel Yard. 

It is a somewhat curious fact that a precisely similar tradition 
exists with respect to the landing at Boston, which runs to the 
effect that, being then a romping girl, Anne Pollard declared that 
she would be the first person to jump on shore, and was as good 
as her word as soon as the boat's keel grounded upon the beach. 

But whoever maybe entitled to the preference, — and that 
question will probably remain unsettled, — the simple act sur- 
rounds the statuesque figure of the eager youth or maiden with 
a glamour rendering it the foremost and striking object of the 
historical picture. There is still another point of view. A 
youth in the full vigor of manhood, whose posterity should 
inherit the virgin laud, sets his nervous foot upon the corner- 
stone of a nation, and makes it an historic spot. A young girl in 
the first bloom of womanhood, the type of a coming maternity, 
boldly crosses the threshold of a wilderness which her children's 
children shall possess and inhabit, and transforms it into an 
Eden. Surely John Alden should have married Mary Chilton 
on the spot. 

MAEY CHILTON. 

GEORGE BANCROFT GRIFFITH. 

Fair beams that kiss the sparkling bay, 

Rest warmest o'er her tranquil sleep. 
Sweet exile ! love enticed away, — 

The first on Plymouth Rock to leap ! 
Among the timid flock she stood, 

Rare figure, near the " Mayflower's " prow, 
With heart of Christian fortitude. 

And liijbt heroic on her brow! 



LEGENDS OF PLYMOUTH EOCK. 



381 



O ye who round King's Chapel stray, 

Forget the turmoil of the street ; 
Though loftier names are round her, lay 

A wreath of flowers at Mary's feet ! 
Though gallant Winslows slumber here, 

E'en worthy Lady Andros too, 
Her memory is still as dear, 

And poets' praise to Mary due. 







--f^Vr-r^?/^^' 



ANCIENT STONE, BUUIAL HILL. 



But besides being the renowned stepping-stone of history. 
Forefathers' Rock has exerted in the course of time upon the 
minds of men who stood in the presence of grave events, a 
secret, a talisraanic influence. In the antique days of chivalry 
men seldom set out upon any doubtful or hazardous adventure 



382 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



,:^% 



without lirst visiting some holy shriue, and imploring the aid or 
protection of their patron saint. In these later times men have 
repaired for inspiration to this rock as they would to a shrine, 
and they have not been ashamed to confess that they found it 
a Living Eock, nerving them to patriotic efl'ort, or moving them 
to inspired utterances in behalf of mankind. 

When in 1774 all the land was in a flame, the spirit of 
the Old Colony having risen to fever heat, it was determined 

newly to consecrate 

g^^.,:^^^f^M^^^^ the rock to the divine 

^_s, "'~ "3.^^ si)irit of Liberty. On 

the appointed day 
all the roads lead- 
ing into Plymouth 
were thronged. Four 
thousand freemen 
had assembled with- 
in the town by noon- 
day on tlie 5th of 
October. They were 
met to pledge them- 
selves to each other 
against the oppres- 
sion of the mother 
country. All were 
animated by the con- 
sciousness of acting 
in a rightful cause 
that moved them as 
one man ; all were burning with patriotic zeal. They first re- 
quired all the Tory partisans of the Crown to make a public 
recantation. This being done, they proceeded to the spot where 
their ancestors had landed, with the purpose of removing Fore- 
fathers' Rock to the public square in the centre of the village. 
But while it was being raised from its primitive bed, and as if 
to oppose the act of desecration, the rock suddenly split in two. 




MONUMENT OVEK rOKEFATHERs' ROCK, 
PLYMOUTH. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MYLES STANDISH. 383 

This accident, Avliicli to many seemed a warning, so dashed the 
spirit of the actors, that the proceedings were near coming to an 
abrupt end ; but some quick-witted spectator having declared it 
to presage the violent sundering of tlie empire in twain, it was 
accepted as a good omen, the upper half was drawn in triumpli 
to the open space in front of the meeting-house, and there de- 
posited, at the foot of the liberty-pole, from wliicli a flag bearing 
the legend, " Liberty or Death," was flung to the breeze. And 
thus the rock was made to j^lay an active part in the great 
controversy. 

This is the portion of Forefathers' Rock that so many thou- 
sand curious pilgrims have seen lying on tlie grass plat in front 
of Pilgrim Hall; while a monument, built in the form of a 
shrine, enclosed, at the edge of the beach, the original spot 
whence it was taken, the lower fragment of the rock, and the 
bones that a pious care had recovered from tlie earliest burial- 
place of the Pilgrims, hard by on Cole Hill. In 1881, after a 
separation of one hundred and six years, the upper half Avas 
replaced upon the lower. What God has joined together let 
no man put asunder ! 



THE COURTSHIP OF MYLES STANDISH. 

OF all our New- England legends, one of the most popular, as 
well as one of the most picturesque, is the story of the 
courtship of Myles Standish, which is the subject of Longfellow's 
poem of that name. 

The action centres in three persons. First there is the mar- 
tial figure of the redoubted captain of Plymouth, the rude but 
tried soldier, the man of manly virtues, with all a soldier's con- 
tempt for courtly graces, the owner of a noble name which he 
had made more illustrious by his deeds, — brusque, quick-tem- 
pered, brave to rashness, but wearing the heart of a lion in his 



384 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



little, undersized body, though his head might sometimes be hot 
and unsteady in council, — in short, a man to be admired, feared, 
trusted, but not, alas ! always loved, nor born to woo. Such 
•was Myles Standisii, the Captain of Plymouth. Though dis- 
inherited by fraud, and self-exiled, this soldier of fortune yet 
possessed a title to distinction that elevates him upon a pedestal 
above the sober and industrious artisans with whom he had 
loyally cast his lot, although it is doubtful if he belonged to 
their communion. 

To this hard Puritan soldier, whose wife had died during the 




STANDISH HOUSE, DUXBURY. 



first dreadful winter of their pilgrimage, enters the stripling 
John Alden, who is asserted to be the same person that first 
leaped upon the world-renowned Eock when these exiles landed 
from the " Mayflower " on that December day. He was only 
twenty-two ; but in the eyes of two persons, at least, this con- 
stituted no defect. These persons were Priscilla Mullius, the 
Puritan maiden, and Myles Standish. One looked upon the 
youth with a smile ; the other with a sigh. Family tradition 
makes this youth one of Standish's household ; for in this pa- 
triarchal community, over which the spirit of economy ruled 



THE COUKTSHIP OF MYLES STANDISH. 385 

supreme, the unmarried members Avere sagaciously joined with 
some family, both for the sake of unity and for the equal dis- 
tribution of work and goods. This constituted one large family 
divided into many. In some sense, therefore, Myles Standish 
was the guardian and protector of Alden, whom he is said to 
have loved as his own son. 

The third person, completing the group, is Priscilla, the daugh- 
ter of William Mullins, one of the original Pilgrim band, who 
had died within two months after the landing, leaving her 
fatherless. There was only one Priscilla, and there were two 
lovers. 

Eose Standish, the first wife, having died, as we have said, 
the Captain finding liis loneliness insupportable, the lovely 
Priscilla found favor in his eyes, and he therefore determined to 
install her as the mistress of his heart and household. But this 
lion in love, who had so often fticed death without flinching, 
wanting courage to lay both at a simple maiden's feet in his 
own person, made choice of John Alden, of all others, as his 
envoy in this delicate negotiation. He unfolded his purpose, 
and gave his hopes into Alden's keeping. How much this dis- 
closure may have troubled the youth, being himself a victim to 
the fair Priscilla's charms, yet bound in honor and gratitude to 
his patron, the Captain, is easily imagined. He had been asked 
to go and declare another man's passion to the object of his 
own heart's desire, — to woo her for another ! How bitterly 
he must have bewailed the weakness that had prevented his 
speaking to her sooner, and had now thrust him into this awk- 
ward dilemma ! 

Loyal still to his friend and patron, though pursued all the 
way by these regrets, he took the well-known path to Priscilla's 
house, steeling himself for the coming interview. Being wel- 
comed, but ill at ease, he first asked permission to urge the Cap- 
tain's suit. The damsel was then called into the room, when 
the young man rose and delivered his errand, — at once his 
renunciation and his despair. Knowing as we do his feelings, 
we may pardon his confusion, as doubtless the keen-eyed Pris- 

25 



386 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

cilia did, and we may excuse the way in which he stammered 
through his speech, every syllable of which must have blistered 
his tongue in giving it utterance. 

We are no true interpreter if the young man's mental and 
moral perplexity is not the key to the blushing Priscilla's answer, 
which, like a ray of sunshine piercing through a wintry cloud, 
instantly breaking through all restraint, turned the formality and 
false sentiment that Alden had fortified himself with, inconti- 
nently out of doors. 

With a beating heart Priscilla listened to his plea for another. 
He, poor wretch ! could not disguise his real feelings from her, 
worn as they were upon his sleeve ; and nobly did she come to 
the rescue. What a world of archness, of tender chiding, and 
of the love which is so pure that it knows no shame, is here 
revealed ! 

"Prithee, John, why don't you speak for yourself?" 

The tradition says that John left the house without speaking, 
but that the look he gave Priscilla spoke for him. We can see 
his dark figure striding homeward through the Plymouth woods, 
and we can guess something of the frame of mind in which the 
young man contemplated his approaching interview with the 
wrathful little Captain. It is indeed said — and here family tra- 
dition takes an issue Avith the poet — that Myles Standish never 
forgave his ambassador to the court of Hymen for thus supplant- 
ing him ; but it is certain that the maiden herself poured balm 
into the wounded spirit of the youth, by giving her hand where 
she had already given her heart. And from these twain come 
all of the name of Alden in the Union. 



So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand ; 
Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over pebble and 

shallow. 
Gathering still, as he went, the May-flowers blooming around him, 
Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful sweetness, 
Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their slumber. 
" Puritan flowers," he said, " and the type of Puritan maidens, 




•^p^ 



•^b» NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla ! 
So I will take them to her ; to Priscilla the May-tlower of Plymouth, 
Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take them ; 
Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and perish, 
Soon to be thrown away, as is the heart of the giver." 

Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden 
Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift 
Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle. 
While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion. 
Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth, 
Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, 
Eough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard. 
Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. 

So he entered the house : and the hum of the wheel and the sinwino- 
Suddenly ceased ; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold, 
Kose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome, 
Saying, " I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage ; 
For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning." 

Thxw. he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters, — 
Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases, 
But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a school-boy ; 
Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. 
Miite with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden 
Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, 
Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her 

speechless ; 
Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence : 
" If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, 
Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me '? 
If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning ! '' 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla, 
Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expanding. 

Though he was rough, he was kindly ; she knew how during the 
winter 



THE PILGKIM FATHERS. 389 

He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as Avoman's ; 
Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong, 
Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable always. 
Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of stature ; 
For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtl}^, courageous ; 
Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, 
Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish ! 

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language. 
Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, 
Archly the maiden smiled, and, with ej^es overrunning with laughter, 
Said, in a tremulous voice, " Why don't you speak for yourself, 
John 1 " 



THE PILGEIM FATHERS. 

Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave 

To seek this shore ; 
They left behind the coward slave 
To welter in his living grave. 
With hearts unbent and spirits brave, 

They sternly bore 
Such toils as meaner souls had quelled ; 
But souls like these such toils impelled 

To soar. 

Percival. 



The Pilgrim spirit has not fled : 

It walks in noon's broad light ; 
And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, 

With the holy stars, by night. 
It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, 

And shall guard this ice-bound shore, 
Till the waves of the Bay where the " Mayflower " lay 

Shall foam and freeze no more. 

PlERPONT. 



390 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod ; 

They have left unstained what there they found,- 
Freedom to worship God ! 

Hemans. 



And never may they rest unsung, 
While Liberty can find a tongue ! 
Twine, Gratitude, a wreath for them 
More deathless than the diadem, 

Who to life's noblest end 
Gave up life's noblest powers, 

And bade the legacy descend 
Down, down to us and ours. 

Speagub. 




RHODE-ISLAND LEGENDS. 




THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 



LONGFELLOW'S ballad of "The Skeleton in Armor" is the 
legitimate product of one of those obscure traditions which, 
through frequent repetition, acquire all the consistency of au- 
thentic facts ; yet, like other illusions, disappear as soon as the 
light is turned on them. In this case the Scandinavian tradition 
recounts the adventurous voyages of the two Norse corsairs, Leif 
and Thorwald, to the New World as early as a. d. 1000. They 
are said to have sailed from Iceland, and to have passed a winter 
in New England. 

The terms of these sagas are so ambiguous, even should they 
be accounted true relations, as to render any serious attempt to 
trace the voyages they narrate, with the purpose of fitting them 
to our own coasts or harbors, a lost labor. That Danisli antiqua- 
ries would be deeply interested in establishing the validity of the 
claim on the part of their countrymen to a discovery preceding 
by nearly five centuries that of Columbus, was only natural ; for 
should they succeed it woidd prove the most brilliant jewel in 
the crown of their nation. The relations themselves, however, 
amounted to little ; and without stronger evidence the reputable 
historian would probably content himself merely with mention- 
ing them. He would certainly hesitate long, and examine criti- 
cally, before installing the vague and the veritable side by side. 



394 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



Should he positively declare America to have been discovered by 
the Northmen in the year 1000, he must first withdraw the 
assertion made in favor of the illustrious Genoese to a discovery 
in 1492. 

Several things contributed to produce in the public mind an 
effect favorable to the Scandinavian claim. The most important 




OLD WINDMILL, NEWPORT. 



of these were the alleged evidences then existing of an occupa- 
tion of the country by the Norse voyagers in question. Let us 
run over them. 

There was, and still is, at Newport, in Ehode Island, an old 
windmill of peculiar, and for New England unique, construc- 
tion, which Time has left a picturesque ruin. The main struc- 
ture, being of stone, presents the appearance of a round tower 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOK. 395 

thirty feet high, supported by massive stone cohnnns, also round ; 
for the woodwork having fallen away, nothing but the bare walls 
remain to identify its original form or purpose. It stands on the 
heights overlooking the harbor ; and until Time's changes hid it 
from view, was always a conspicuous object when the city was 
approached from the sea. This structure had been so long un- 
used, that little importance need be attached to the fact that the 
purpose for which it was originally built had gradually died out 
of the meinory of the oldest inhabitant. The natural growth 
of the town was certain in time to bring this result about. Its 
proper functions then having, so long ceased, no one regarded it 
except with a feeble curiosity, nor was there even a local tradi- 
tion concerning it. For a century and a half it had stood on 
the same spot without a question arising as to its origin ; it 
was completely ignored. But at length some one discovered a 
resemblance to Scandinavian architecture. The Danish savans 
at once claimed tlie windmill as the work of their countrymen 
centuries before the arrival of the English. 

There was also on the shore of Taunton River, — a tidal 
stream that flows into Narragansett Bay, and might therefore 
be easily ascended by an exploring vessel, — a moderately large 
bowlder, one face of which, being smooth, was completely covered 
with mysterious hieroglyphics which no one had been able to 
decipher. Tlie strange characters had originally been deeply 
cut into the perpendicular face toward the channel; but in the 
course of years, and owing to the rock itself being partly sub- 
merged at high tide, the continual abrasion of water and ice has 
nearly obliterated tliem ; so that it is now scarcely possible to 
identify these marks as the work of human hands. The bowlder 
received the name of Dighton Rock because the shore where it lay 
imbedded was within the limits of the town of Dighton. Here 
now was a veritable relic of antiquity. Unlike the windmill, 
this had always been the subject of eager curiosity and discus- 
sion, — so much so, that copies of the inscription had been 
transmitted by Cotton Mather to the learned societies of London 
as a worthy and valuable contribution to the purposes and aims 



396 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

of archseological research ; while the windmill, notwithstanding 
its alleged peculiarity of construction, and the clear presumption 
that it must have been a most poignant spur to curiosity, as prov- 
ing the residence here of Europeans so long ago, was not thought 
to be worthy of a single word, and no one of the thousands to 
whom it was a familiar object so much as hinted that it had any 
title to such consideration. The sculptured rock remained, how- 
ever, an unsolved enigma. A vague local tradition only ren- 
dered it all the more perplexing. It is true that many who 
were acquainted with their rude coiumemorative drawings, 
which those of the rock greatly resembled, believed that the 
Indians had at some time cut the unknown characters. This 
very natural solution of the mystery became the subject of con- 
troversy. The Danish antiquaries, better instructed, immedi- 
ately declared Dighton Rock to be the imperishable record of 
the adventurous voyages of their countrymen. 

Still another thing, most opportunely occurring, by investing 
it with the glamour of romance, secured for the new theory a 
certain amount of sympathy, — thus giving it a strength of a 
wholly diiierent kind in the popular mind. Hitherto the new 
idea had taken less with the general public than with scholars ; 
the materials were now found for a veritable coup de thedtre. 

There was exhumed at Fall River the skeleton- of a man 
whose breast — whether for ornament or defence is uncertain — 
Avas protected by an oval plate of brass, and on whose fieshless 
thighs still loosely hung a belt of curious workmanshiji, made of 
hollow tubes of brass much corroded, and fitted together in the 
manner of the bandoliers worn when firearms were in their in- 
fancy. There were also found lying near the skeleton some 
arrow-heads made of the same metal. It is true that the body 
had been buried in a sitting posture, with its arms and orna- 
ments, agreeable to the funeral customs of the Indians of this 
coast. It is also true that from the voyages of the Cabots down 
to the coming in of the Enghsh settlers here, the possession of 
copper ornaments, and even weapons of war, by the Indians, was 
a fact constantly repeated. Even the chains and collars, one of 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOK. 



397 




which was worn by the skeleton, had been exactly and minutely 
described in some of the lielations printed by Hakluyt. But 
the sagas liad said that Thorwald, the Norse rover-chief, was 
slain in an encounter with the natives, and had been hastily 
interred near the spot where he fell. The breastplate and 
arrows were said to be identical with those in use among the 
Scandinavians of this ancient 
period. To the silent evi- 
dence of the mill and to the 
testimony of the rock was 
now joined that of a supposed 
Norse warrior in his armor. 
The Danish scholars unhesi- 
tatingly adopted the skeleton. 

The case as it now stood 
may bo briefly summed up 
thus. A building said to be 
of a construction similar to the 
most ancient ones in the Scan- 
dinavian peninsula, — in fact 

not dating later than the twelfth century, — certainly unlike any- 
thing of British architecture, had been found ; a rock inscribed 
Avith Runic characters, — for the Danish scholars claimed to 
decipher portions of its inscription, — had been discovered ; a 
skeleton wearing armor of the kind used by Norse warriors had 
been disinterred, — and these things existed within such neigh- 
borhood to each other as to constitute a chain of evidence strong 
in itself, strengthened by probability, and further supported by 
the very general feeling in its favor, that they were the work 
or the remains of the adventurous sea-rovers of the North. To 
such an array, presented with such authority and with so much 
confidence, it is no wonder that the sceptical at first hardly 
knew what to answer. 

But each and every one of these pieces of evidence has been 
fully disproved. It has been shown that the Newport Mill was 
of a similar build to those erected in some parts of England, — 



THE SKELETOlSr IN ARMOR. 



398 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

notably like one at Chesterton. The settlers, therefore, built after 
known British models. The attempt to convert tlie characters 
of Dighton Rock into Runic, or even into an intelligible historic 
record of any kind, signally failed to convince either learned 
or unlearned. And lastly, the metal found upon the skeleton 
turned out to be different from that used for warlike purposes 
by the ancient Scandinavians. To this the direct evidence that 
a windmill was erected on the very spot where the ruin now 
stands ; that Governor Arnold mentions it in his will ; that the 
way leading to it is still called Mill Street ; and that it was 
commonly known as a windmill and nothing else, — would seem 
finally to dispose of wliat was left of the Northmen's antique 
tower, and to leave it the simple and striking memorial of the 
forefathers that it undoubtedly is. Tliis whole controversy may 
be said signally to demonstrate the ease with which any histori- 
cal fact may be perverted or unsettled. 

In a note to his " Skeleton in Armor," Mr. Longfellow says 
that he considers the tradition sufficiently established for the 
purpose of a ballad. Voila tout ! But he very naively adds 
what few will now be found willing to dispute, that, " doubtless 
many an honest citizen of Newport, who has passed his days 
within sight of the round tower, will be ready to exclaim, with 
Sancho : ' God bless me ! did I not warn you to have a care what 
you were doing, for that it was nothing but a windmill ; and no- 
body could mistake it but one who had the like in his head.'" 

In the ballad the Viking's ghost is supposed to appear to the 
poet, and is exhorted to tell him his story. One instinctively 
recalls Hamlet's midnight colloquy on the platform of the castle 
at Elsinore : — 

Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 

Who, with thy hollow breast 

Still in rude armor drest, 
Couiest to daunt me ! 

Wrapt not in Eastern balms. 

But with thy flesliless palms 

Stretched, as if asking alma, 
Why dost thou haunt me ] 



THE SKELETON IN AKMOR. 399 

And the grisly corse replies : — 

I was a Viking old ! 

My deeds, though manifold, 

No Skald iu song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 

For this I sought thee. 

The weird tale proceeds without further regard to the legend 
as it is told in the sagas. The rude corsair wins the love of a 
gentle maiden,— a prince's child, — somewhat in the manner of 
Othello, by teUing her the story of his deeds : — 

Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning yet tender ; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their full splendor. 

Then the Viking, having persuaded the old Hildebrand's 
daughter to fly with him, is hotly pursued by the incensed 
father "with seventy horsemen." He puts to sea in his vessel, 
and is followed by Hildebrand in another, when the catastrophe 
that makes him an outcast occurs : — 

And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail. 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail. 

Death without quarter ! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water ! 



400 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

After this the outlaw who has carried off the daughter, and 
has slain the father before her eyes, steers into the open and 
unknown sea. The stanza intnxlucing the roimd tower is as 
follows : — 

Three weeks we westward bore ; 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-like, we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower 
Which, to this very hour. 

Stands looking seaward. 

Here the hawk and the dove dwelt until a child was born to 
them ; but the maiden sickened ; and at length, as the ballad 
tells us, — 

Death closed her mild blue eyes : 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 
On such another ! 

In despair, the Viking puts on his armor and falls upon his 
spear, — the poet thus accounting for the skeleton in armor by a 
stroke of genius, as he does for the tower by a touch of human- 
ity ; so that it is not strange to find people saying they would 
rather believe in the legend than not. 

But Mr. Longfellow was not the first poet to discover the capa- 
bilities of the old mill for a poem. The poet Braiuard makes it 
the subject of an Indian tradition to the effect that its perishing 
walls were typical of the gradual disappearance of the lied Man 
in the home of his fathers, and that its final fall would signal- 
ize the total extinction of his race. His is the earliest poetical 
use of the tower that the writer has seen. 



THE NEWPORT TOWER. 401 

THE NEWPOET TOWER. 

J. G. BRAINARD. 

There is a rude old monument, 
Half masonry, half ruin, bent 
With sagging weiglit, as if it meant 

To warn one of mischance ; 
And an old Indian may be seen 
Musing in sadness on the scene, 
And casting on it many a keen 

And many a thoughtful glance. 

When lightly sweeps the evenmg tide 
Old Narragansett's shore beside. 
And the canoes in safety ride 

Upon the lovely bay, — 
I 've seen him. gaze on that old tower, 
At evening's calm and pensive hour ; 
And when the night began to lower, 

Scarce tear himself away. 

But once he turned with furious look, 
While high his clenched hand he shook, 
And from his brow his dark eye took 

A reddening glow of madness ; 
Yet when I told him why I came, 
His wild and bloodshot eye grew tame. 
And bitter thoughts passed o'er its flame 

That changed its rage to sadness. 

" You watch my step, and ask me why 
This ruin fills my straining eye. 
Stranger, there is a prophecy 

Which you may lightly heed : 
Stay its fidfilment if you can : 
I heard it of a gray-hau-ed man ; 
And thi;s the threatening story ran, — 

A boding tale indeed. 
26 



402 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

" He said that when this massy wall 
Down to its very base should fall, 
And not one stone among it all 

Be left upon another, 
Then should the Indian race and kind 
Disperse like the returnless wind, 
And no red man he left to find 

One he could call a brother. 

" Now yon old tower is i'alling fast : 
Kindred and friends away are passed ; 
Oh ! that my father's soul may cast 

Upon my grave its shade, 
When some good Christian man shall place 
O'er me, the last of all my race, 
The last old stone that falls, to grace 

The spot where I am laid ! " 

Mrs. Sigourney, following Longfellow, has also addressed some 
characteristic lines to its gray walls in a half serious, half play- 
ful vein. She, too, Lelieved it to Le a veritable relic of the 
Northmen. But the poets, it should be said, are much too sus- 
ceptible to the charm of romance to be intrusted with making 
history. 

THE NEWPORT TOWER. 

MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 

Dark, lonely Tower, amid yon Eden-isle, 
Which, as a gem, fair Narragansett wears 
Upon her heaving breast, thou lift'st thy head, 
A mystery and paradox, to mock 
The curious throng. 

Say, reared tlie plundering hand 
Of the fierce buccaneer thy massy walls, 
A treasure-fortress for his blood-stained gold ? 
Or wrought the beings of an earlier race 
To form thy circle, while in wonder gazed 
The painted Indian ? 



BLOCK ISLAND. 403 

We see thou art 
A right substantial, well-preserved old tower, — 
Let that suffice us. 

Some there are who say 
Thou wert an ancient windmill. 

Be it so ! 
Our Pilgrim-sires must have been much in love 
With extra labor, thus to gather stones. 
And patient rear thy Scandinavian arch, 
And build thine ample chamber, and uplift 
Thy shapely column, for the gadding winds 
To play vagaries with. 

In those hard times 
I trow King Philip gave them other work 
Than to deck dancing-halls, and lure the blasts 
From old Eolus' cave. 

Had'st thou the power, 
I think thou'dst laugh right heartily to see 
The worthy farmers, with their sacks of corn. 
Mistaking thy profession, as of old 
Don Quixote did mistake thine ancestor, — 
If haply such progenitor thou hadst. 



BLOCK ISLAND. 

THE introduction to Dana's celebrated narrative poem, 
" The Buccaneer," is a beautiful piece of descriptive writ- 
ing, that stands out in strong relief against the dark legend upon 
which it casts a solitary ray of sunshine. 

THE ISLAND. 

The island lies nine leagues away. 

Along its solitary shore, 
Of craggy rock and sandy bay, 
No sound but ocean's roar, 
Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home. 
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam. 



404 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

But when the light winds lie at rest, 

And on the glassy, heaving sea, 
The black duck, with her glossy breast, 
Sits swinging silently, 
How beautiful ! No ripples break the reach, 
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach. 

And inland rests the green, warm dell ; 

The brook comes tinkling down its side ; 
From out the trees the Sabbath bell 
Rings cheerful, far and wide, 
Mingling its sounds with bleatings of tlie flocks 
That feed about the vale amongst the rocks. 

Nor holy bell nor pastoral bleat 

In former days within the vale ; 
Flapped in the bay the pirate's sheet ; 
Curses were on the gale ; 
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men : 
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then. 

The island merits a further word of description. It is a bank 
of clay, treeless and wind-swept, eight miles long, rising out of 
the ocean between Montauk and Gay Head, and lying nearest 
to Point Judith, on the Ehode-Island shore, from which it is 
about five miles distant. Planted, as it is, right athwart the 
highway of a vast and increasing commerce, it is a veritable 
stumbling-block in the way of the anxious navigator. In clear 
weather its brilliant light cheers the grateful mariner on his 
voyage with its signal of " All 's well, and a fine night ! " till 
it sinks or fades from his view. 

"We know that a tribe of the once powerful and warlike Nar- 
ragansetts possessed and inhabited this sea-girt isle, to which 
their fathers gave the euphonious name of Manisses. But pow- 
erful and warlike as they w^re, they were also a race of plunder- 
ers, having the lawless traits common to islanders everywhere ; 
so that, as early as the infancy of the white settlements in Mass- 
achusetts Bay, their thieving propensities brought down upon 



BLOCK ISLAND. 



405 



them the vengeance of the whites, who made an armed descent 
upon the island witli the sanguinary purpose of exterminating 
every warrior upon it. Before the wars, of which this is a mere 
episode, were over, the island passed forever from the ownership 
of these Indians, who had fled from it in terror, into that of their 
enemies, — first taking a civilized name from the Dutch sailor 




ANCIENT WINDMILL. 



Adrian Block, and subsequently tliat of New Shoreham, which 
the township still retains. 

Then began the gradual peopling of the island under the rule 
of a new race, and a development, sometimes checked by the 
wars, but tending slowly toward an improved condition. It 
being first available for pasturage, the islanders were mostly far- 
mers, who raised cattle, sheep, and poultry, which they exported 
to the mainland. Tillage gradually superseded this. The farms 



406 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

are still productive, and the inhabitants, contrary to the general 
belief, get their living chiefly by the soil. 

Those who were not farmers were fishermen. The seas around 
the island teemed with the cod, the mackerel, and the blue fish, 
besides other valuable species, — thus furnishing subsistence to 
another class, who toiled with net and line, and who built their 
rude cabins and flakes by the shore. But the island having no 
good harbor, fishing and trading went on by boats in the old 
primitive way. 

Somehow, the reputation of the island was never good. Sail- 
ors always shook their heads when they spoke of Block Island. 
A bad lee shore, a place of no good hap for the unlucky mariner 
who might be driven upon it, were prevailing notions, — and 
firmly rooted ones, — which dark hints, and still darker tradi- 
tions, concerning shipwrecked crews and valuable cargoes, give 
a certain color and consistency. " I would rather be wrecked 
anywhere than upon Block Island," became a common and sig- 
nificant saying in the forecastle or the midnight watch, when 
the dark mass of the island heaved in sight. But all this refers 
to long ago ; for though there are still wreckers, — and they are 
universally held by sailors to be but one remove from pirates, — 
their work now proceeds with some regard for the saving of life 
and the lawful claims of the owners. In " the good old times " 
the wreckers stripped a ship, and divided her cargo upon the 
principle that to the finders belongs the spoil. " Everything is 
fish," said they, "that comes to our net." 

Like all islanders, these people were generally hardy, sober, 
and industrious. But a difference is to be observed between the 
farmers and the fishermen, — a name often synonymous with 
that of wreckers or smugglers. So isolated were they from the 
rest of the world, that the intermarriage of those more or less 
related by blood was a thing of common occurrence. The 
result was naturally unfavorable to the physical condition of 
the islanders. Indeed, one instance is mentioned of a woman 
who left three deaf-and-dumb sons at her death. 

Dana's "Buccaneers" and Whittier's "Palatine" are the 



BLOCK ISLAND. 407 

legitimate outcome of a state of things which so naturally 
affords materials for romance ; and both are also the outgrowth 
of a singular legend, whose very obscurity lends it a weird 
fascination. 

Some time during the last century — even the year is uncer- 
tain — an emigrant ship bound for Philadelphia came upon the 
American coast, only to be driven off to sea again by stress of 
weather. The emigrants were substantial and thrifty Dutch 
people of the better class, who had brought all tlieir property 
along with them to their new home, whither many of their coun- 
trymen liad preceded them. Some of them are even alleged 
to have been wealthy. It was in the dark and dreary season 
of midwinter, when the voyage, already long, was thus disas- 
trously lengtliened. With the coast in sight, but unable to gain 
her port, the ship, bufieting the frozen seas, was driven north- 
ward far out of her course ; while scenes were being enacted on 
board, the bare thought of whicli makes the blood run cold. 
The captain had died, or had been murdered, at sea, before the 
vessel came in sight of the land. All discipline was at an end ; 
and the ship's crew then began a system of cold-blooded rob- 
bery, to which the act of boldly hoisting the black flag and 
of cutting the throats of their miserable victims would have 
been mercy indeed. The wretches armed themselves ; and 
having taken possession of the water and provisions, with a 
refined cruelty demanded from the famishing emigrants twenty 
guilders for a cup of water, and fifty rix-dollars for a biscuit. 
To save their lives the poor passengers were obliged to beggar 
themselves. Those who could not or would not comply with 
the atrocious demand were allowed to starve, and their ema- 
ciated bodies were coolly thrown into the sea. The ship soon 
became a floating hell. Having plundered their victims of 
everything that they possessed of value, the inhuman crew 
finally took to the boats ; and deserting the stricken ship, they 
left her to the mercy of the winds and waves. With no one 
left on board to navigate hei-, the doomed ship drifted on. 
Days of despair were succeeded by nights of horror. She was 



408 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

now a madhouse, tenanted only by maniacs or the unburied 
corpses of those who had died from famine or disease. 

One calm Sabbath morning the "Palatine" struck on the north- 
ernmost reef of Block Island. But her voyage was not to end 
here. The wreckers manned their boats and humanely rescued 
all those who had survived starvation, except one woman, who 
had gone stark mad, and who now refused to leave the wreck. 

The ship, having only touched the reef, floated off again with 
the rising tide ; and the wreckers, who surroimded the grimy hulk 
like vultures the carcass of a noble stag, now making their boats 
fast to it, towed her into a neighboring cove, in order that they 
might dismantle her at their leisure. But before this could be 
done a gale sprang up ; when the wreckers, seeing that the ship, 
in spite of their efforts, would be blown off to sea, set her on 
fire ; and she was soon in flames. 

Enveloped in fire from truck to <leck, the '• Palatine " drove out 
into the thickening darkness of a stormy sea, — an object of dread 
even to those who had so recklessly applied the torch. But this 
feeling was turned to deeper horror when the frenzied shrieks 
borne to their ears from the burning ship told the lookers-on 
that a human being was perishing miserably in the flames before 
their eyes. 

These appalling sounds were supposed to proceed from the 
maniac woman, avIio had been forgotten in the excitement of 
the moment. The " Palatine " drifted away, and burned to 
the water's edge. And so ends the dismal tale of the actual 
ship. 

But it is now averred that on that very night twelvemonth, 
tlie anniversary of the same storm, the islanders were affrighted 
by tlie startling and sublime spectacle of a ship on fire in the off- 
ing, which, as the gale rose, drifted before it, and gradually faded 
from their sight, exactly as the ill-fated "Palatine" had done. 
Year after year the same strange sight continued to keep the fate 
of the " Palatine " fresh in the memory of every man, woman, and 
child upon the island. Hundreds had seen it ; and all were fully 
convinced that this annual visitation was a portent of disaster to 



THE BUCCANEER. 409 

them and theirs. Some of the better-informed were, it is true, 
inclined to class the phantasm of the burning ship with atmos- 
pheric phenomena ; but the islanders only shrugged their shoul- 
ders as they pointed to the unerring certainty with which it 
reappeared, the faithfulness with which every detail of the con- 
flagration repeated itself, and the mysterious way in which the 
vessel first came on shore. 

THE BUCCANEER. 

Dana's tragic story of the "Buccaneer" would hardly be 
recognized for the same that we have related, were not its 
leading incidents firmly associated with Block Island. He 
makes Lee, the "buccaneer" of the poem, native here. Lee is- 
a man fitted by nature for leadership in a career of crime, — a 
monster from whom we turn in abhorrence, and for whose evil 
destiny even the poet's art can hardly make us feel one touch of 
compassion. The grandeur of the design of the poem is in fact 
marred by the hideousness of the central figure. Lee is a wretch 
without one redeeming trait, — he is simply a cut-throat. 

The poem opens with Lee's ship lying in a port of Spain. He 
has grown weary of the life of a peaceful trader, and has re- 
solved to turn pirate. While the vessel is being refitted for sea 
a Spanish lady seeks a passage in her to America. Her husband 
has fallen in the wars, and she is scarcely wedded before she is 
a widow and an exile from her native land. Lee receives her 
with well-afiected sympathy, and tenders her a passage in his 
ship. The bereaved lady unsuspectingly puts herself, her at- 
tendants, and all that she possesses in the corsair's power. Her 
rich jewels and her gold inflame the rapacity of Lee, — who, 
however, is crafty enough to bide his time. The Sefiora has a 
strange attachment for a favorite milk-white Arabian horse : this 
too is brought on board, and then the ship sets sail. She is 
no sooner out of sight of land, than the crew, at a signal from 
Lee, stab the lady's servants in their sleep. They then, with 
a deadlier pxirpose, break into her cabin : — 



410 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

A crash ! They force the door ; and then 

One long, long, shrill, and jjiercing scream 
Comes thrilling bove the growl of men ! 
'T is hers ! O God, redeem 
From worse than death thy suffering, helpless child ! 
That dreadful shriek again, — sharp, sharp and wild ! 

It ceased : with speed o' tli' lightning's flash 
A loose-robed form, with streaming hair, 
Shoots by ; a leap, — a quick, short splash ! 
'T is gone ! and nothing there ! 
The waves have swept away the bubbling tide, — 
Bright-crested waves, how calmly on they ride ! 

With a brutal jest on his lips, Lee then orders the horse to be 
.thrown alive into the sea ; the men obey. 

Such sound to mortal ear ne'er came 
As rang far o'er the waters wide ; 
It shook with fear the stoutest frame, — 
The horse is on the tide ! 
As the waves leave, or lift him up, his cry 
Comes lower now, and now is near and high. 

The ill-fated lady's gold is then divided ; but a quarrel spring- 
ing up over it, Lee stabs one of his men to the heart. When 
the ship is near the land, she is abandoned and set on fire. Lee 
with his cut-throats gains the shores of Block Island. They 
drown remorse in drink, and silence suspicion by scattering their 
ill-gotten gold right and left. At length the night of their hor- 
rid anniversary comes round. The buccaneers are celebrating 
it by a carousal, when a sudden glare, lighting up the sea, brings 
the orgy to a pause. 

Not bigger than a star it seems ; 

And now 't is like the bloody moon ; 
And now it shoots in hairy streams ! 
It moves ! — 't will reach us soon I 
A ship! and all on fii^e ! — hull, yard, and mast! 
Her sails are sheets of flame ! — she 's nearinij fast ! 



THE BUCCANEER. 411 

And what comes up above tlie wave 

So ghastly white >. A spectral head ! 
A horse's head ! (May Heaven save 
Those looking on the dead, — 
The waking dead !) There on the sea he stands, — 
The Spectre Horse ! He moves ! He gains the sands ! 

The spectre horse gallops like tlie wind up to the door-stone, 
and stands with his burning eyes fixed on Lee. A power he 
cannot resist compels the villain to mount the dreadful steed, 




LEE Olf THE SPECTKE HOUSE. 



which instantly dashes off with his rider to the highest cliff of 
the island, from which Lee sees not only the ship on fire, but 
beholds in the depths it lights the bodies of those whom he had 
slain. At dawn the spectre vanishes, leaving him rooted to the 
spot. Lee's doom has begun ; thenceforth he is accursed. All 
shun him, all turn from him with fear and loathing ; for all 



412 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

have seen the spectre ship. Weary of life, yet afraid to die, 
the outcast wanders about the shores of the island, — a broken, 
hopeless wreck of his former self. 

They ask him why he wanders so, 

From day to day, the uneven strand. 
" I wish — I wish that I might go ! 
But I would go by land ! 
And there 's no way that I can find ; I 've tried 
All day and night ! " He seaward looked and sighed. 

At last the fatal summons comes. The fireship again bears 
down upon the island. Again the unearthly messenger, the 
spectre horse, strides over the waves. The pirate pleads for 
mercy ; but his hour is come. 

He 's on the beach, but stops not there ; 

He 's on the sea, — that dreadful horse I 
Lee flings and writhes in wild despair. 
In vain ! The Spirit Corse 
Holds him by fearful spell ; he cannot leap : 
Within that horrid ligkt he rides the deep. 

It lights the sea around their track, — 

The curling comb and steel-dark wave ; 
And there sits Lee the Spectre's back, — 
Gone ! gone ! and none to save ! 
They 're seen no more ; the night has shut them in ! 
May Heaven have pity on thee, man of sin ! 



THE PALATINE. 413 

THE PALATINE. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

Old wives spinning their webs of tow, 

Or rocking weirdly to and fro 

In and out of the peat's dull glow. 

And old men mending their nets of twine, 
Talk together of dream and sign, 
Talk of the lost ship " Palatine," — 

The ship that, a hundred years before, 
Freighted deep with its goodly store, 
In the gales of the equinox went ashore. 

Down swooped the wreckers, like birds of prey 
Tearing the heart of the ship away, 
And the dead had never a word to say. 

And then, with ghastly shimmer and shine 
Over the rocks and the seething brine. 
They burned the wreck of the "Palatine." 

In their cruel hearts, as they homeward sped, 
" The sea and the rocks are dumb," they said : 
" There '11 be no reckoning with the dead." 

But the year went round, and when once more 
Along their foam- white curves of shore 
They heard the line-storm rave and roar, 

Behold ! again, with shimmer and shine. 
Over the rocks and the seething Ijrine, 
The flaming wreck of the " Palatine ! " 

So, haply in fitter words than these, 
Mending their nets on their patient knees, 
They tell the legend of Manisees. 



414 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



THE LAST OF THE WAMPANOAGS. 

THE beautiful eminence of Mount Hope was the ancient seat 
of Philip, the great sachem of the Wampanoags. When 
his reverses had left him only a handful of followers Philip took 
the sublime resolution of returning to his mountain home and 
dying like a chief of royal blood, with his arms in his hands. 
INIount Hope was quickly surrounded by his enemies ; and here 
the dreaded warrior fell, shot through the heart by a renegade 
of his own race. 

When here King PhiUp stood, 

Or rested in the niche we call his throne, 
He looked o'er hill and vale and swelling flood. 

Which once were all his own. 
Before the white man's footstep, day by day, 

As the sea-tides encroach uj)on the. sand, 
He saw his proud possessions melt away, 
And found himself a king without a land. 
Constrained by unknown laws, 
Judged guilty without cause, 
Maddened by treachery, 
What wonder that his tortured spirit rose 
And turned upon his foes, 
And told his wrongs in words that still we see 
Recorded on the page of history. 



CONNECTICUT LEGENDS. 




THE PHANTOM SHIP. 



THIS marvel comes to us in a letter written at New Haven, 
where it happened, to Cotton Mather, and printed in his 
" Magnalia Christi," As Wagner has confirmed to our OAvn age 
the immortality of the Flying Dutchman, so liave Mather and 
Longfellow decreed that of this wondrous sea-legend. There 
is no power in science to eradicate either of them. One would 
not have his illusions rudely dispelled by going behind the 
scenes while " Der fliegende Hollander " is being performed ; 
and he does not ask if under sudi or such atmospheric condi- 
tions a mirage may not have deceived the good people of Xew 
Haven in the year a. d. 1647. 

In that year a Ehode-Island-built ship of about one hundred 
and fifty tons' burden, carrying a valuable cargo, besides " a far 
more rich treasure of passengers," put to sea from New Haven. 
Among those who sailed in her were five or six of tlie most emi- 
nent persons in that colony. The ship was new, but so " walty," 
that Lamberton, her master, often said that she would prove the 
grave of passengers and crew. It was in the heart of winter ; 
the harbor was frozen over, and a way was cut through the ice, 
through which the ship slowly passed on her voyage, while the 
Heverend Mr. Davenport, besides many other friends who wit- 

27 



418 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

nessed her departure, accompanied her with their prayers and 
tears until she was lost to view. 

An ill-omened gloom overspread the scene, to which the prayer 
of the pastor lent an emphasis of its own. They who were de- 
parting heard these solemn words of invocation, wafted like a 
prayer for the dead to their ears : " Lord, if it be thy jjleasure 
to bury these our friends in the bottom of the sea, take tliem ; 
they are thine : save them ! " 

When, in the following spring, the ships arriving from Eng- 
land brought no tidings either of ship or company, " New 
Haven's heart began to fail her." This, says the narrative, 
" put the godly people upon much prayer, both public and pri- 
vate, that tlie Lord would — if it was his pleasure — let them 
hear what he had done with their dear friends, and prepare 
them with a suitable submission to his holy will." 

One afternoon in June a great thunderstorm arose out of the 
northwest. After it had spent itself, — after this grand overture 
had ceased, — the black clouds rolled away in the distance, and 
the skies again became serene and bright. All at once, about 
an hour before sunset, the people saw a large ship, with all her 
sails spread and her colors flying, coming gallantly up from the 
harbor's mouth. But such a ship as tliat had never before been 
seen ; for notwithstanding the wind was blowing dead against 
her from the land, she moved steadily on against it as if her 
sails were filled with a fresh and favorable gale. The people 
looked on in wonder and in awe. The strange vessel seemed 
floating in air ; there was no ripple at her bow, nor on her deck 
any of the bustle denoting preparation to anchor. All those 
who had assembled to witness the strange sight gazed in stu- 
pefaction. The children clapped their hands and cried out, 
"There's a brave ship !" while up the harbor she sailed, stem- 
ming wind and tide, and every moment looming larger and 
more distinct. 

At length, crowding iip as far as there is depth of water suffi- 
cient for such a vessel, — in fact so near to the spectators that the 
figure of a man standing on her poop, with a naked sword, which 



THE PHANTOM SHIP, 



419 





THE PHANTOM SHIP. 

he pointed seaward, was 
distinctly seen, — sud- 
denly and noiselessly, as 
if struck by a squall, her 
main-top seemed blown 
away, and, falling in a 
wreck, hung entangled in 
the shrouds ; then her 
mizzen-top, and then all 
her masts, spars, and 
sails blew away from her 
decks, and vanished like 



420 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

tliistledown, leaving only a dismantled hulk floating in the quiet 
haven. As if yielding now to an invisible but resistless force, 
this too began to careen dangerously more and more, until it 
went down before the eyes of the beliolders in a mist-like cloud, 
which after a little time melted away, leaving the space lately 
occupied by the Phantom Ship, as everywhere else, clear and 
unobstructed. 

The wonder-struck lookers-on, Avhile this weird couuterA'it of 
a wreck at sea was enacting before their eyes, could so far distin- 
guish the peculiar form and rigging of the Spectre Ship as to 
be able to say that " Tliis was the very mould of our ship, and 
thus was her tragic end." The learned and devout Mr. Daven- 
port also declared publicly, "That God had condescended, for 
the quieting of their aftlicted spirits, this extraordinary account 
of his sovereign disposal of those for whom so many fervent 
prayers were made continually." 

Mr. Bryant, writing to the poet Dana in 1824, says that 
he had formed the idea of constructing a narrative poem on 
this subject ; but upon finding that the legend had already 
been made use of by Irving, he abandoned the purpose, wliicli 
Longfellow subsequently carried out, with dramatic effect, as 
follows : — 

A ship sailed from New Haven ; 

And the keen and frosty airs. 
That filled her sails at parting. 

Were heavy with good men's prayers. 

But Master Laraherton muttered, 
And under his breath said he, 
" This ship is so crank and walty, 
I fear our grave she will be ! " 

And at last their prayers were answered : — 

It was in the month of June, 
An hour before the sunset 

Of a windy afternoon. 



THE CHARTER OAK. 421 

When, steadily steering landward, 

A ship was seen below, 
And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, 

Who sailed so long ago. 

On she came, with a cloud of canvas. 

Right against the wind that blew, 
Until the eye could distinguish 

The faces of the crew. 

Then fell her straining topmasts, 

Hanging tangled in the shrouds, 
And her sails were loosened and lifted, 

And blown away like clouds. 

And the masts, with all their rigging. 

Fell slowly, one by one. 
And the hulk dilated and vanished. 

As a sea-mist in the sun ! 

And the people who saw this marvel 

Each said unto his friend, 
That this was the mould of their vessel, 

And thus her tragic end. 



THE CHARTER OAK. 

WERE an American schoolboy to be asked to name the 
most celebrated tree of history, he would undoubtedly 
mention tlie Charter Oak. Other trees are locally famous ; but 
this tree may be said to have a national reputation. 

It is now not quite thirty years since the sturdy oak itself 
went down before one of those terriiic storms that it had for 
centuries refused to budge an inch to ; but so firmly had it 
become rooted in the event of history which first drew con- 
spicuous attention to it, that this will be as soon forgotten as the 



422 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

oak will. Nothing illustr;ites like this the strength of ohl associ- 
ations, or more clearly expresses that demand of the human mind 
for something that may establish a relation with the invisible 
through the visible. The Charter Oak is no more. Yet it is 
still the tree that commemorates to most minds the preservation 
of the Colonial Charter, more distinctly than the event itself does 
the tree ; for it is undoubtedly true that when we cast our eyes 
over the field of history we instinctively seek out tliose objects 
that rise above the common level, like steeples above a city. 
One sees there the Charter Oak ; the chapter of history then 
swiftly unfolds itself. 

The fall of this mighty monarch of tlie ancient forests oc- 
curred in tlie year 1856. It was announced throughout the 
Union as a public calamity ; and in Hartford, where the Charter 
Oak had almost become an object of veneration, the intelligence 
created a feeling of loss to the glory of tlie city which nothing 
in the way of monuments coulil make good. Tlie smallest 
pieces of the tree were eagerly secured by relic-hunters, and 
they are still carefully treasured up, in order to perpetuate, in the 
thousand forms into which a piece of wood may be turned, the 
memory of the brave old oak from which Hartford derived its 
familiar sobriquet of the Charter-Oak City, of wliich her citizens 
are justly proud. 

The Charter Oak stood on the slope of Wyllys's Hill, in the 
city of Hartford ; and it had stood on the same spot for cen- 
turies. No man knew its exact age ; but there is little doubt 
that it was an object of veneration to the Indians long before 
the discovery of America by Columbus. Tradition says that 
when the white people began to build here at Hartford, INIr. 
Samuel Wyllys, who was one of these ])ioneers, was busy clear- 
ing the forest away around his homestead, and he had marked 
this tree for destruction with the rest ; but the savages who 
dwelt in the neighborhood so earnestly begged that it might be 
spared, because its first putting forth its leaves had been a sign 
to them from immemorial time when to plant their corn, that at 
their request the oak was left standing. 



THE CHAKTER OAK. 



423 



Some idea of the great age of this historic tree luay, however, 
be formed by considering its dimensions. Thirty odd years 
before it fell to the ground, a wreck, it measured thirty-six feet 
in circumference at the base. The famous hiding-place in its 
trunk had then nearly closed up, although the old people could 
remember when it would easily admit a child into the hollow 
cavity of the tree. The same generation believed this to be a 
sign that it had fulfilled its mission. When Mr. Lossins visited 




THE CUARTEU OAK. 



it in 1848 he found the trunk then having a girth of twenty- 
five feet around it at one foot from the ground ; and the opening 
at the bottom was then a narrow crevice only large enough for a 
person's hand to go in. 

This oak appeared to have lost its upper trunk during some 
battle with lightning or gale, so that many others of its species 
of more recent growth surpassed it in height ; but the accident 
had also enormously strengthened the lower trunk, and extended 
the spread and thickness of the limbs, which continued to flaunt 



424 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

defiance in tlie face of the elements that were surely destroy- 
ing them piecemeal. In time the tree had recovered its old 
symmetry of form, while its foliage was still remarkably rich 
and exuberant. Year by year it became more and more closely 
imprisoned within the walls of the growing city, until it stood 
a solitary, though not unregarded, survivor of its race and 
time. 

There is another relic intimately associated with the Charter 
Oak for which the people of Connecticut have a great regard. 
Hanging up in the office of the Secretary of State, in the State 
Capitol, in a frame made of the Charter Oak, is the venerable 
original charter of the Colony, bearing not only the autograph, 
but the portrait of King Charles II. It is the genuine world- 
renowned document whose mysterious disajjpearance one even- 
ing, about two centuries ago, caused such a hubbub to be raised 
throughout the Colonies ; and it is, therefore, of all the his- 
torical treasures of the State the most valued. 

The story of how the Colonial charter was saved from the 
clutches of Sir Edmund Andros is a stirring episode of those stir- 
ring times, when Tyranny, boldly unmasking, began openly to 
threaten New England with the loss of all her time-honored fran- 
chises. In contempt of their chartered rights. King James II. 
had appointed Sir Edmund governor over all the New-England 
Colonies. Neither the wishes, the interests, nor the happiness 
of the people were to be for a moment considered. It was to 
be a rule of iron, and a man of iron was chosen for it. The 
first step was to seize and declare void the old charters. Mas- 
sachusetts had already been dispossessed of hers ; everything 
there was in confusion. It was now the turn of the other 
colonies. With this object Sir Edmund despatched to the Con- 
necticut authorities an order demanding in good set terms the 
surrender of their charter ; for even the arbitrary James would 
have it appear that he paid some respect to the majesty of the 
law by observing its forms ; and the cliarter, being a royal grant 
of power, could not be ignored. Tiie people of Connecticut con- 
sidered this an act of usurpation, and their representatives natu- 



THE CHARTER OAK. 425 

rally hesitated. But the charter not being forthcoming on liis 
demand, Sir Edmund determined to let the good people of Con- 
necticut know witli whom they had to deal. He was a man of 
action ; and he quickly put himself at the head of his soldiers, 
and went to fetch the instrument at the point of the sword. 
Never before had a body of royal troops trodden the soil of 
the Land of Steady Habits. Now, their errand was to sow 
the seeds of rebellion and disloyalty. The Governor, nursing 
his wrath all the way, arrived at flartford in no gentle frame 
of mind ; and going at once to the House where the Colonial 
Assembly was sitting, he strode into the chamber and imperi- 
ously demandeil, in the King's name, the immediate delivery to 
him of the charter, at the same time declaring the old govern- 
ment to be dissolved and its proceedings unlawful. The repre- 
sentatives of the people saw the structure that their fathers had 
raised falling in ruins around them. Tliere stood the dictator. 
Open resistance would be treason. But certain of the members, 
had resolved that he should never liave the charter, cost what it 
might. Wishing to gain time, the Assembly fell into debate 
over the matter, while the King's viceroy haughtily awaited its 
determination without leaving the chamber. The countenances 
of all present were anxious and pre-occupied. The debate grew 
warm, and Sir Edmund impatient. It became so dark that 
candles were lighted. The charter was then brought in and 
laid npon the table in full view of every one jiresent. A hush 
fell upon the Assembly, every man of whom knew that the crisis 
had been reached. By this time the house was surrounded by 
the populace, in whom the feeling of resistance only wanted a 
spark to set it in a flame. But a better way had been found. 
All at once the lights in the chamber were extinguished ; and 
when they were officiously relighted, the precious instrument 
was gone ! The faces of that body of men when this fact 
dawned upon them nuist have been a study. 

The tradition is — for of course no official record could be 
made of such an act of treason — that when the candles were 
put out, the box containing the royal patent was snatched from 



426 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

the table, hurried out of the chamber, and tlirnst into the 
hollow of the tree that has ever since borne the name of tlie 
Charter Oak. This daring act was performed by Captain Jert^- 
miah "Wadswortli ; and it subsequently saved C/Onnectiout from 
having inijtosed upon lier the same humiliating terms that 
were granted under favor of King William to the old Mother- 
Colony. 

But notwithstanding his main purpose had thus been 
thwarted, Sir Edmund took upon him on the spot the reins 
of government, by a formal declaration which is entered upon 
the record, closing witli the ominous word "finis." So the 
people of Connecticut had after all to submit, until the Revo- 
lution in England tumbled King James's rotten throne about 
his ears, and in its turn wrote " finis " at the end of his 
fatal dynasty in characters large enough to convey tlieir warn- 
ing to his successors, — "Resistance to tyranny is obedience 
to God." 



THE CHARTER OAK AT HARTFORD. 

L. II. SIGOURNEY. 

Once there came, in days of yore, 

A minion from the mother shoi-e. 

With men-at-arms and flashing eye 

Of predetermined tyranny. 

High words he spake, and stretched his hand, 

Young Freedom's charter to demand. 

But lo ! it vanished from his sight. 
And sudden darkness fell like night. 
While, baffled still, in wrath and pain. 
He, groping, sought the prize in vain ; 
For a brave hand, in trust to me, 
Had given that germ of liberty ; 
And like our relative of old 
Who clasped liis arms, serenely bold. 



THE PLACE OF NOISES. 

Around the endangered prince who fled 
The scaffold where his father bled, 
I hid it, sale from storm and blast, 
Until the days of dread were past ; 
And then my iaithful l)reast restored 
The treasure to its riglitful lord. 

For this do pilgrims seek my side, 
And artists sketch my varying pride ; 
And far away o'er ocean's brine, 
An acorn or a leaf of mine, 
I hear, are stored as relics rich 
In antiquarian's classic niche. 



427 



THE PLACE OF NOISES. 

WE take the following weird tale partly from the historian 
Trumbull, and partly from tlie poet Braiuard. History 
and romance are thus amicably blended, — each elucidating 
according to its own si)irit the singular phenomenon wliicli 
so long disturbed the good people of East Haddam. 

"The Indian name of the town was Machemoodus, which in 
English is -the place of noises, '- a name given with the utmost pro- 
priety to the place. Tlie accounts given of the noises and tpiakuigs 
there are very remarkable. Were it not that the people are accus- 
tomed to them, they would occasion great alarm. The Reverend Mr. 
Hosmer, in a letter to Mv. Prince, of Boston, written August 13tli, 
1729, gives this account of them : ' As to the earthquakes, I have 
something considerable and awful to tell you. Earthquakes have 
been her^ (and nowhere but in this precinct, as can be discerned, — 
that is, they seem to have their centre, rise, and origin among us), 
as has been ol)served for more than thirty years. I have been m- 
formed that in this place, before the English settlements, there were 
..-reat numbers of Indian inhabitants, and that it was a place ot ex- 
traordinary Indian paivaws, — or, in short, that it was a place where 



428 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

the Indians drove a prodigious trade at worshipping the elevil. Also 
I was informed that, many years past, an old Indian was asked 
what was the reason of the noises in this place. To which he re- 
plied, that the Indian's God was very angry because Englishmen's 
God was come here. Now whether there he anything diabolical in 
these things, 1 know not ; but this I know, that God Almighty is 
to be seen and trembled at in what has been often heard among us. 
Whether it be fire or air distressed in the subterraneous caverns of 
the earth, cannot be known, — for there is no eruption, no explosion 
perceptible, — but by sounds and tremors, which sometimes are very 
fearful and di'cadful. I have myself heard eight or ten sounds suc- 
cessively, and imitating small arms, in the space of five minutes. 
I have, 1 suppose, heard several hundreds of them within twenty 
years ; some more, some less terrible. Sometimes we have heard 
them almost every day; and great numbers of them in the space of 
a year. Oftentimes I have observed them to be coming down from 
the north, imitating slow thunder; until the sound came near or right 
under, and then there seemed to be a breaking like the noise of a 
cannon-shot or severe thunder, which shakes the houses and all that 
is in them. They have in a manner ceased since the great earth- 
quake. As I remember, there liave been but two heard since that 
time, and those but moderate.' " 

The poetic version of tlie .story is introduced by the following 
account in prose, for the truth of wliicli the })0ct vouches. We 
will only add to it the statement that the carbuncle was highly 
prized by our ancestors for its supposed power to protect the 
wearer from tlie danger of infection ; but it was only to be found 
iu inaccessible places, like the bowels of the earth or unviolated 
mountain peaks. 

"A traveller who accidentally passed through East Haddam 
made several inquiries as to the Moodus noises that are peculiar to 
that part of the country. Many particulars were related to him of 
their severity and effects, and of the means that had been taken to 
ascertain their cause and prevent their recurrence. He was told 
that the simple and terrified inhabitants, in the early settlement of 
the town, applied to a book-learned and erudite man from England, 
by the name of Doctor Steele, who undertook by magic to allay 
their terrors ; and for this purpose took the sole charge of a black- 



MATCHIT MOODUS. 429 

smitli's shop, in whicli he worked by night, and from which he ex- 
cluded all adnussion, tightly stopping and darkening the place, to pre- 
vent any prying curiosity from interfering with his occult operations. 
He, however, so far explained the cause of these noises as to say that 
they were owing to a carbuncle which must have grown to a great 
size in the bowels of the rocks, and that if it could be removed, the 
noises would cease until another should grow in its place. The noises 
ceased ; the doctor departed, and has never been heard of since. It was 
supposed that he took the carbuncle with him. Thus iar was authen- 
tic. A little girl who had anxiously noticed the course of the travel- 
ler's inquiries sung for his further edilication the following ballad.'' 



MATCHIT MOODUS. 

J. G. BUAINAKD. 

See you upon the lonely moor 

A crazy building rise I 
No hand dares venture to open the door ; 
No footstep treads its dangerous floor ; 

No eye in its secrets pries. 

Now why is each crevice stopped so tight ? 

Say why the bolted door l 
Why glimmers at midnight the forge's light ? 
All day is the anvil at rest ; but at night 

The flames of the furnace roar. 

Is it to arm the horse's heel 

That the midnight anvil rings ? 
Is it to mould the ploughshare's steel. 
Or is it to guard the wagon's wheel, 

That the smith's sledge-hammer swings ? 

The iron is bent, and the crucible stands 

With alchemy boiling up ; 
Its contents were mixed by unknown hands, 
And no mortal fire e'er kindled the brands 

That heated that cornered cup. 



430 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

O'er Moodus River a light has glanced, 

On Moodus Hills it shone ; 
On the granite rocks the rays have danced, 
And upward those creeping lights advanced, 

Till they met on the highest stone. 

Oh, that is the very wizard place, 

And now is the wizard hour, 
By the light that was conjui'ed up to trace, 
Ere the star that falls can run its race, 

The seat of the earthquake's power. 

By that unearthly light I see 

A figure strange alone ; 
With magic circlet on his knee. 
And decked with Satan's symbols, he 

Seeks for the hidden stone. 

Now ui)ward goes that gray old man, 

With mattock, bar, and spade : 
The summit is gained, and the toil begun. 
And deep by the rock where the wild lights run. 

The magic trench is made. 

Loud and yet louder was the groan 

That sounded wide and far ; 
And deep and hollow was the moan 
That rolled around the l)edded stone 

Where the workman plied his bar. 

Then upward streamed the brilliant's light, — 
It streamed o'er crag and stone ; 

Dim looked the stars and the moon that night ; 

But when morning came in her glory bright, 
The man and the jewel were gone. 

But wo to the bark in which he flew 

From Moodus' rocky shore ; 
Wo to the captain, and wo to the crew 
That ever the breath of life they drew 

When that dreadful freight they bore. 



THE SPANISH GALLEON. 431 

The carbuncle lies in the deep, deep sea, 

Beneath the luightj'- wave ; 
But the light sliiues upward so gloriously 
That the sailor looks pale, and forgets his glee, 

When he crosses the wizard's srave. 



THE SPANISH GALLEON. 

" "TT is a fact," writes the poet Jkainard, " that two men from 
-L Vermont are now (Jnly 11th, 1827) working by the side 
of one of the wharves in New London, for buried money, by the 
advice and recommendation of an old woman of that State, who 
assured them that she could distinctly see a box of dollars packed 
edgewise. The locality was pointed out to an inch ; and her 
t)nly way of discovering tlie treasure was by looking through a 
stone, — whicli to ordinary optics was hardly translucent. For 
the story of the Spanish galleon that left so much bullion in 
and about New London, see Trumbull's ' History of Connecti- 
cut ; ' and for Kidd, inquire of the oldest lady you can find." 

The story related by Trumbull is this : — 

"About this time [1753] an unhappy event took place, dis- 
honorable to the ('olony, injurious to foreigners, and which occa- 
sioned a great and general uneasiness, and many unfriendly 
suspicions and imputations with respect to some of the princi- 
pal characters in the Colony. A Spanish ship, coming into the 
port of New London in distress, ran upon a reef of rocks, and 
so damaged the vessel that it was necessary to unlade her and 
put her freight into stores at New London. The cargo Avas 
delivered into the custody of Joseph Hill, Esq., collector of the 
port of New London. The supercargo was Don Joseph Miguel 
de St. Juan. That he might sail with his cargo early in the 
spring, he obtained a ship of about two hundred tons, and was 
ready to sail in April. But when he had shipped part of his 



432 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



cargo, other parts of it were withholden from him or k)st, and 
could not hy any means of his be recovered. As he could obtain 
no relief, and was determined not to sail without the recov- 
ery of his cargo or some indemnification for the loss of it, he 
waited until October, and then preferred a memorial to the 
Assembly, representing his arrival in the snow ' St. Joseph and 




OLD ■WAREHOUSES, NEW LONDON. 



St. Helena' from Havana, bound to Cadiz, at the port of I^ew 
London ; and that he had stored his cargo there, in the custody 
of Joseph Hill, Esq., the collector ; and that when he had pro- 
cured a vessel in April, and required his cargo, that it might be 
reshipped, a considerable part of it had been withholden, lost, 
and embezzled ; and praying for relief, or that he might reland 
that part of his cargo which remained, and secure it at their ex- 
pense ; and also that his men might be discharged. 



THE SPANISH GALLEON. 



433 



"The Assembly, after bearing and deliberating on the memo- 
rial, resolved. That Avhatever losses he had sustained, it was 
either by means to them unknown, or which they were by no 
means able to prevent. ... It was declared. That the requests 
of the petitioner were unreasonable, and therefore could not be 




ANCIENT MILL, NEW LONDON. 



granted ; hut that as protection and assistance were due to a 
foreigner cast among them, the Assembly did advise the Gover- 
nor to grant all due protection and relief to the said Don Miguel, 
according to the laws of trade, nature, and nations. The Gov- 
ernor was also desired and empowered, in case the said Joseph 
Miguel should desire it, to direct a full search after any part 
of his cargo whicli might have been embezzled or lost, and to 

28 



434 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

take all such reasonable measures therein as should be necessary 
to do justice in said case. 

" Before the meeting of the freemen in April, it was generally- 
known that the Spaniards had been robbed, or at least that 
an important }'art of a rich and very valuable cargo had been 
stolen, embezzled, or by some means lost or kept back from the 
owners; and it occasioned a great ferment through the Colony. 
It was imagined that it might involve the Colony in great diffi- 
culties ; that it might be obliged to indemnify the owners, and 
that it would bring a heavy debt upon it ; or that it might eftect 
a rupture, and hostilities between the two nations. Others were 
moved with a sense of honor, sympathy, and justice. They 
were ashamed and grieved that, when foreigners in distress had 
cast themselves upon not only a civilized, but Christian people, 
they had been plundered as though they had fallen among hea- 
thens, thieves, and robbers. All the feelings of covetousness, 
honor, sympathy, and justice, were touched. Great blame was 
imputed to some of tlie principal characters in the Colony, espe- 
cially to Governor Wolcott. It was imagined by many that he 
had not taken such care and adopted such measures to secure 
the property of those foreigners, and to save them harmless, as 
he ought to have done. Whether there was any just founda- 
tion for faulting him or not, it so disaffected the freemen that, 
notwithstanding his former popularity, he lost their suffrages, 
and Thomas Fitch, Esq., was chosen governor in his place. 
Mr. Hill did not escape a share of blame, among others. How 
such a quantity of stores of various kinds should be lost or 
embezzled without his knowledge or privity, and that no thor- 
ough search sliould be made for them in so many months, is 
very unaccountable. But Avhere the fault lay, or what became 
of the lost goods, never came to public view. Nor does it ap- 
pear that the Colony was ever put to any extraordinary expense 
or trouble on that account. The war was now commencing, 
and private concerns were neglected and forgotten, while national 
interests of greater moment and more general concern engrossed 
the public mind both in Europe and America." 



THE MONEY-DIGGEES. 43^ 

THE MONEY-DIGGERS. 

J. G. BRAINARD. 

Thus saitb the Book : " Permit no witch to live ! " 
Hence Massachusetts hath expelled the race ; 
Connecticut, where swap and dicker thrive, 
Allowed not to their foot a resting-place. 
With more of hardihood and less of grace, 
Vermont receives the sisters gray and lean, 
Allows each witch her airy broomstick race, 
O'er mighty rocks and mountains dark with green, 
Where tempests wake their voice, and torrents roar between. 

And one there was among that wicked crew 
To whom the enemy a pebble gave, 
Through which, at long-off distance, she might view 
All treasures of the fathomable wave ; 
And where tlie Thames' bright billows gently lave 
The grass-grown piles that flank the ruined wharf, 
She sent them forth, those two adventurers brave, 
Where greasy citizens their beverage quatf, 
Jeering at enterprise, aye ready with a laugh. 

They came, those straight-haired, honest-meaning men, 
Nor question asked they, nor reply did make, 
Albeit their locks were lifted like as when 
Young Hamlet saw his father ; and the shake 
Of knocking knees, and jaws that seemed to break, 
Told a wild tale of undertaking bold. 
While as the oyster-tongs the chiels did take, 
Dim grew the sight, and every blood-drop cold, 
As knights in scarce romant sung by the bards of old. 

For not in daylight were their rites performed ; 
When nightcapped heads were on their pillow laid, 
Sleep-freed from biting care, by thought unharmed, 
Snoring e'er word was spoke or prayer was said, — 



436 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

'T was then the mattock and the busy spade, 
The pnmp, the bucket, and the windlass-rope. 
In busy silence plied the mystic trade, 
While Resolution, beckoned on by Hope, 
Did sweat and agonize the sought-for chest to ope. 

Beneath the wave the iron chest is hot, 

Deep growls are heard, and reddening ej^es are seen ; 

Yet of the black dog she had told them not, 

Nor of the gray wild geese with eyes of green, 

That screamed and j^elled and hovered close between 

The buried gold and the rapacious hand. 

Here should she be, though mountains intervene, 

To scatter, with her crooked witch-hazel wand. 

The wave-born sprites that keep their treasure from the land- 
She cannot, may not come. The rotten wharf 
Of mouldering planks and rusty spikes is there ; 
And he who owned a quarter or an half 
Is disappointed ; and the witch is, — where ? 
Vermont still harbors her. Go, seek her there. 
The grandam of Joe Strickland ; find her nest 
Where summer icicles and snowballs are. 
Where black swans paddle and where petrels rest ! 

Symmes be your trusty guide, and Robel-t Kidd your guest ! 



THE NORWICH ELMS. 

L. H. SIGOURNEY. 

I DO remember me 

Of two old Elm- Trees' shade, 
With mosses sprinkled at their feet. 

Where my young childhood played ; 



THE NOEWICH ELMS. 437 

While the rocks above their head 

Frowned out so stern and gray, 
And the little crystal streamlets 

Went leaping on their way. 

There, side by side, they lifted 

Their intertwining crown, 
And through their broad embracing arms 

The queenly Moon looked down ; 
And methought, as there I lingered, 

A musing child alone, 
She fain my secret heart would read 

From her bright silver throne. 

I do remember me 

Of all their wealth of leaves, 
When Summer in her radiant loom 

The burning solstice weaves ; 
And how, with firm endurance. 

They braved an adverse sky. 
Like Belisarius doomed to meet 

His country's wintry eye. 

I 've roamed through varied regions, 

Where stranger-streamlets run ; 
And where the proud magnolia flaunts 

Beneath a Southern sun ; 
And where the sparse and stunted pine 

Puts forth its sombre form, — 
A vassal to the Arctic cloud 

And to the tyrant storm ; 

And where the pure unruffled lakes 

In placid wavelets roll. 
Or where sublime Niagara shakes 

The wonder-stricken soul ; 
I 've seen the temple's sculptured pile, 

The pencil's glorious art, — 
Yet still those old green trees I wore 

Depicted on my heart. 



438 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Years fled : my native vale I sought, 

Where those tall Elm-Trees wave ; 
But many a column of its trust 

Lay broken in the grave. 
The ancient and the white-haired men, 

Whose wisdom was its stay, 
For them I asked ; and Echo's voice 

Made answer, " Where are they ? " 

I sought the thrifty matron 

Whose busy wheel was heard 
When the early beams of morning 

Awoke the chirping bird : 
Strange faces from her window looked, 

Strange voices filled her cot ; 
And 'neath the very vine she trained. 

Her memory is forgot. 

I left a youthful mother. 

Her children round her knee : 
These babes had risen into men, 

And coldly looked on me ; 
But she, with all her bloom and grace, 

Did in the churchyard lie. 
While still those changeless Elms upbore 

Their kingly canopy. 

Though we, who 'neath their lofty screen 

Pursued our childish play, 
May show amid our sunny locks 

Some lurking tints of gray, 
And though the village of our love 

Doth many a change betide. 
Still do these sacred Elm-Trees stand 

In all their strength and pride. 



I^art €J)irteattJ). 

NANTUCKET AND OTHER LEGENDS. 




NANTUCKET LEGENDS. 



THE islands of Nantucket, Martha's Vineyard, and of the 
Elizabeth group all possess more or less legendary lore 
of the kind that surrounds them with a peculiar fascination. 
One by one these islands have emerged from the sea into the 
light of history, and have taken a place upon the map. Little 
by little and with caution were their inhospitable coasts and 
foaming reefs explored by the early navigators, and step by step 
did Christian missionaries approach the fierce islanders who 
inhabited them in happy ignorance that any other world than 
the neighboring mainland existed. 

In the order of chronology it is the Elizabeth Islands that 
should be the first mentioned, since it was there that the bold 
attempt to found in New England a colony of Europeans Avas 
made. One cannot forbear a smile at its futility. Vaguely con- 
ceived, not half matured, and feebly executed, it was abandoned, 
as so many enterprises of " great pith and moment " have been, 
in the very hour that should most fully test the mettle of those 
who were conducting it ; and it is now memorable only because 
it was the first serious endeavor to naturalize Englishmen upon 
the soil. Yet although these men left only a perishable foot- 
print behind them, they did bestow enduring names upon the 
various capes and headlands that siiccessively rose out of the 
sea to greet them. So far as is known, however, not one is a 



442 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



memento of themselves ; nevertheless it is these names thrown 
at random in passing which has rendered the voyage of Captain 

Bartholomew Gos- 
nold a fact worth 
preserving j other- 
wise it is a cipher. 
In the w hole 
company who set 




sail with him 

from Fal- 

n outh there 

were only 

thirty-two 

persons; of 

whom but twelve, the Apostolic number, purposed remaining in 

the country as actual settlers. It would be difficult to conceive 

of an empire with its millions dating its origin from this hand- 



CTJTTYHUNK. 



2SANTUCKET LEGENDS. 443 

fill, had they been the fortunate ones to leave us the duty of 
inscribing their names at the head of the illustrious roll of 
founders ; but their personality having no greater substance than 
their enterprise, they, with the exception of a few whose names 
the care of Hakluyt has preserved, have all vanished. 

From Falmouth, then, on the 25th of March, 1 602, the " Con- 
cord" put to sea. On the 14th of May, the day being Friday, 

— mark that, ye superstitious mariners ! — Gosnold had in view 
the lumpy coast of New England, stretching from Agamenticus 
to Cape Ann ; and presently, to the great wonder of all on board 

— for these English could not believe that any had preceded 
them here, — they fell in with a Basque shallop, manned by eight 
tawny, black-haired natives, who could speak a few English 
words intelligibly, and could name Placentia, in Newfoundland. 
It seemed that these savages had communicated with the French 
there. This encounter could not but cheapen Gosuold's esti- 
mate of himself as a discoverer in unknown seas, — for that role 
he was fully a century too late. But having thus got hold of 
the land, Gosnold now put his helm to starboard, and steer- 
ing southward into the Bay, and keeping good watch, found 
himself brought to by the bended forearm of the great sand- 
spit to which he gave the name of Cape Cod. He continued 
cautiously working his way along the south coast, shortening 
sail at night, until he was again embayed within the chain of 
islands extending between Buzzard's Bay and the open sea, — 
a broken, but still magnificent barrier. One of these he called 
Martha's Vineyard, thinking so little of the matter that he left 
nothing to satisfy the curiosity of another age respecting the 
person he had meant to honor, either in token of remembrance, 
or perhaps as a gage cV amour. The knowledge, therefore, died 
with the giver ; and so Martha's Vineyard remains a monument 
with an incomplete inscription which nobody is able to complete. 

Eleven days after sighting the coast the adventurers landed up- 
on Cuttyhunk Island, to which Gosnold gave the name of Eliza- 
beth, the Queen, — a name that has since been applied to the 
whole group. They decided to make this island their residence. 



444 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Having great fear of the savages, Gosnold's men set to work 
building a fort, in which they dwelt until they had procured 
a cargo of sassafras for their ship, when they hurriedly de- 
camped and set sail for England ; but upon the grand scheme of 
colonization of which this was to be the entering wedge, this 
voyage had no further result than to act as a spur to the 
lords-proprietors, who impoverished themselves in fruitless 
efforts, until the year 1620 of happy memory showed them 
what might be done without other resources than courage, per- 
sistency, and a firm reliance on the assistance of Heaven. 

Gosnold also saw and named the remarkable promontory of 
Gay Head, — probably so called from its brilliant and variegated 
coloring when the sun shone full upon it. The structure of this 
lofty headland bears upon it certain evidences of its volcanic 
origin. Four or five craters are more or less distinctly traced. 
The most ancient of these, long since overgrown with grass, and 
called the Devil's Den, measures twenty rods across at the top 
fourteen at the bottom, and is one hundred and thirty feet deep 
at the sides, except upon the one next the sea, which is open. 
The most fantastic stories continued to pass current respecting 
this wizard spot until the beginning of the present century ; for 
here, as fame reports, was one of the residences of Maushope, the 
Indian giant, the tutelary genius of all the tribes inhabiting these 
islands, as well as the adjacent mainland of Cape Cod. Like 
Fingal, Maushope was in the habit of wading across the Sound 
when the humor took possession of him. Here he broiled the 
whale on coals made from the largest trees, which he pulled up 
by the roots. After separating N^o-man's Land from Gay Head, 
metamorphosing his children into fishes, and throwing his wife 
on Seconnet Point, where she now lies, a misshapen rock, he 
broke up housekeeping and left for parts unknown. 

The fishermen used to say that it was a common thing to see a 
light upon Gay Head in the night-time, and it was handed down 
as a matter undisputed among them that the whalemen were in 
the habit of guiding themselves at night by the lights that were 
seen glancing upon Gay Head. When they appeared flickering 



NANTUCKET LEGENDS. 445 

iu the darkness the sailors would say, " Old Maushope is at it 
again ! " But the beacon-lights were held to be friendly ones ; 
for, like the stars, they showed the belated mariner what course 
to steer. The sea has encroached greatly upon the clay clifts 
in the course of centuries. The harmless descendants of the 
warlike race still inhabit the place ; but the light of a powerful 
Fresnel shining from a massive tower has superseded the mid- 
night orgies of the wandering Maushope. 

Like the Eastern wizards, Maushope was capable of raising 
mists whenever he wished ; but that his was wholly an original 
method will appear from the following traditional account of the 
discovery of Xantucket, which is presented verbatim. 

" 111 former times, a great many moons ago, a bkd, extraordinary 
for its size, used often to visit the south shore of Cape Cod and carry 
from thence in its talons a vast number of small children. Mau- 
shope, who was an Indian giant, as fame reports, resided in these 
piirts. Enraged at the havoc among the children, he on a certain 
time waded into the sea in pursuit of the bird, till he had crossed the 
Sound and reached Nantucket. Before Maushope forded the Sound 
the island was unknown to the red men. Maushope found the bones 
of the children in a heap under a large tree. He then, wishing to 
smoke a pipe, ransacked the island for tobacco ; but finding none, he 
filled his pipe with poke, — a weed which the Indians sometimes used 
as a substitute. Ever since the above memorable events fogs have 
been frequent at Nantucket and on the Cape. In allusion to this 
tradition, when the aborigines observed a fog rising, they would say, 
' There comes old Maushope's smoke ! ' This tradition has been 
related in another way : that an eagle having seized and carried off 
a papoose, the parents followed him in their canoe till they came to 
Nantucket, where they found the bones of their child dropped by 
the eagle. There is another Indian tradition, that Nantucket was 
formed by Maushope by emptying the ashes from his pipe after he 
had done smoking. The two tribes on the island were hostile to 
each other. Tradition has preserved a pleasing instance of the power 
of love. The western tribe having determined to surprise and attack 
the eastern tribe, a young man of the former, whose mistress belonged 
to the latter, being anxious for her safety, as soon as he was concealed 
by the shades of night, ran to the beach, flew along the shore below 



446 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

the limit of high water, saw his mistress a moment, gave the alarm, 
and returned by the same route before daybreak ; the rising tide 
washed away the traces of his feet. The next morning he accom- 
panied the other warriors of the tribe to the attack : the enemy was 
found prepared, and no impression could be made on them. He 
remained undetected till, several years after, peace being restored 
between the two tribes, and the young man having married the girl> 
the truth came to light." 

We have elsewhere related the circumstance that led to the 
settlement of Nantucket by the whites. The Quaker element 
long continued to be the dominant one in the social life of the 
island, as well as of its religion and government. Here, free from 
persecution, these much-abused followers of George Fox were 
supposed to have found their Arcadia. They established a pa- 
triarchal government. Instead of laws, they had usages which 
were obeyed as laws. It was nearly the happy ideal condition, 
where men live without quarrels, without crime, and without 
the enforcement of law. They were husbandmen and shepherds. 
They fished, planted, and traded in peace. Although some of 
them amassed wealth, everything about them continued to wear 
the appearance of a primitive economy ; they lived on inde- 
pendently and prosperously. But notwithstanding a natural 
predilection for the land — and we can hardly think of Quakers^ 
as making good sailors — there was the sea continually calling, 
continually asserting itself, at their doors. By a transition as 
curious as it is absolute, these peaceful shepherds became the 
most noted sailors of our continent and the most renowned 
whalemen of the world. With this change the native Indians 
doubtless had much to do ; for in their primitive way they too 
Avere expert in taking those monsters of the deep. The Nan- 
tucket whale-fishery began in the waters immediately surround- 
ing the island, and in boats. The whaleman finished his career 
amid the Arctic ice, w^here he quietly made for himself a route 
long before Governments entered into the disastrous contest, 
with King Frost in which so many valuable lives have been 
lost. Had there been certain indications that whales were to be^ 



NANTUCKET LEGENDS. 447 

found at the Pole, the Nantucket whalemen would have dis- 
covered it. 

The sea-annals of N"antucket are consequently very numer- 
ous ; and as they chiefly relate to stubborn conflicts with whales, 
they are very interesting. But as we now get our oil upon the 
land, the industry which brought Nantucket into world-wide 
notice has no longer any existence there. There is, however, 
a museum, in which are preserved many evidences to the fact, 
in the same manner that Salem preserves the memorials of her 
departed East-Indian trade. Alas ! one cannot but regret these 
changes. The whale-fishery gave to the nation a race of in- 
trepid sailors, who might have become at need her defenders : 
the petroleum discovery has given us some millionnaires. 

It is well known that sailors are able to discover their where- 
abouts, even in thick weather, by making an examination of 
the soundings that the lead has brought up from the bottom. 
Nantucket skippers, it would seem from the following ballad, are 
able to go even farther than this, and to tell with their eyes shut 
in what neighborhood they are : — 

THE ALAEMED SKIPPEE. 

JAMES T. FIELDS. 

Many a long, long year ago, 

Nantucket skippers had a plan 
Of finding out, though " lying low," 

How near New York their schooners ran. 

They greased the lead before it fell, 

And then, by sounding through the night. 

Knowing the soil that stuck, so well, 

They always guessed their reckoning right. 

A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim. 

Could tell, by tasting, just the spot ; 
And so below be 'd " dowse the glim," — 

After, of course, his " something hot." 



448 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock, 
This ancient skipj^er might be found. 

No matter how his craft would rock, 
He slept ; for skippers' naps are sound ! 

The watch on deck would now and then 
Eun down and wake him, with the lead ; 

He 'd up and taste, and tell the men 
How many miles they went ahead. 

One night 'twas Jotham Marden's watch, 
A curious wag, — the pedler's son ; 

And so he mused (the wanton wretch !) : 
" To-night I '11 have a grain of fun ! 

" We 're all a set of stu])id fools 

To think the skipper knows by tasting 

What ground he 's on, — Nantucket schools 
Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting ! " 

And so he took the well-greased lead 
And rubbed it o'er a box of earth 

That stood on deck, — a parsnip-bed ; 
And then he sought the skipper's berth. 

" Where are we now, sir I Please to taste." 
The skipper yawned, put out his tongue ; 

Then oped his eyes in wondrous haste. 
And then upon the floor he sprung ! 

The skipper stormed and tore his hair, 

Thrust on his boots, and roared to Harden : 

" Nantucket 's sunk, and here tve are 

Bight over old Marm Hacketfs garden ! " 



THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. 449 



THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. 

WHEN Charles I. Avas about to lay his royal head upon the 
block, he took his St. George from his neck and handed 
it to Bishop Juxon, saying as he did so, " Remember ! " This 
was the last word uttered by the royal martyr; for a moment 
later the axe fell. According to Hume, after the execution was 
over, the Council of State called Juxon before them, and de- 
manded to know what this command of the King signilied. 
Juxon replied that on the day before his death the King had 
expressly recommended to him to convey to his son, should that 
son ever ascend the throne, his wish that his murderers might 
be pardoned ; and that it was his own promise, then given, that 
the King had recalled when handing him his St. George, — des- 
tined to be placed in his son's hands. The following story is an 
example of the memory of kings and of the filial obedience of 
Charles 11. 

We now enter upon one of those romantic episodes belong- 
ing to the heroic age of our history and embodying its true 
spirit. 

The history of the tradition is briefly this. It originated in 
the family of Governor Leverett, who ruled over the destinies of 
the Bay Colony during its desperate struggle with King Philip, 
and it has first a permanent record in the pages of Hutchinson, 
who had in his possession, when he wrote, the original manuscript 
diary and many other of the private papers belonging to the fugi- 
tive regicide. Colonel William Gofie, the hero of the traditional 
story. 

There are, it is true, some zealous antiquaries who do not 
hesitate to characterize the story as a romance pure and simple ; 
but as they have only succeeded at the most in involving it in 
doubt, a tradition possessing sufficient vitality to live unchal- 
lenged for so long a period as a hundred and fifty years may well 

29 



450 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

be entitled to have the benefit of that doubt. Truth above all 
things ; but before treating one of our most valued traditions as 
an imi^ostor, conclusive evidence to the imposition becomes a 
logical necessity to the framers of the indictment. They cer- 
tainly ought not to come into court without a clear case. 

Adhuc subjudice lis est. Without joining in the discussion 
here, let us perform a more gracious duty, and tell the story as it 
was always told and believed before its credibility was called in 
question. 

In the month of October, 1G64, feeling no longer safe in their 
retreat at J^ew Haven, Goffe and Whalley fled up the valley to 
Hadley, Avhich was then one of the remote frontier plantations. 
Every precaution Avas taken to render the journey a profound 
secret. Upon arriving there they were hospitably received, given 
shelter, and carefully guarded from all intrusion upon their priv- 
acy by the minister of the place, the Reverend John Eussell, — 
whose house thenceforth became their abode for fifteen or sixteen 
years, until death released one of them forever from tlie enmity 
ofm,en and kings. Only a few, whose fidelity could be depended 
upon, were admitted into the secret ; and for greater security 
it was given out that the regicides had fled to New York, with 
the purpose of again crossing the seas and taking refuge in 
Holland. 

Behold these two outcasts, behind whom " stalked the heads- 
man," finally immured within the four walls of an humble fron- 
tier dwelling, like men who have forever taken leave of the world 
and its concerns, but whom the world still vindictively pursues. 
The same ruthless spirit of revenge that had violated the senseless 
bodies of Cromwell and Ireton was now abroad in New England ; 
and her people, willing though they might be, dared not openly 
resist the hard logic of events. That spirit was the vengeance 
of a king ; that logic, the restoration of Charles Stuart to the 
throne. 

Eleven years had rolled over the heads of the exiles. One by 
one their hopes had fallen to the ground and withered away. 
Whalley had become decrepit; Gofie indeed retained some of 



THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. 451 

the old fire he had shown when, at the head of Cromwell's 
Ironsides, he charged at Dunbar, and turned the doubtful issue 
of that glorious day. This brings us to the year 1G75, 

The year 1675 ushered in the gigantic struggle with Philip, 
the great Narragansett chieftain. Never before had such a storm 
of war assailed poor New England. Calamity followed calamity. 
An adversary who concentrated in his own athletic person all 
the hatred, the subtlety, the thirst for vengeance of his race, 
suddenly rose, the majestic and fateful figure of the hour. Philip, 
King of Pokanoket, had proclaimed war, — war in its most terri- 
ble aspect, — war to the knife. Philip the leader had aroused 
his people from their deadly lethargy of forty years to make one 
last, one supreme effort. It was now a struggle for life or 
deatli, and as such had to be met. 

The menaced Colonies hastened to put forth their utmost 
eff'orts in order to meet the emergency, whose gravity increased 
every hour. A general insurrection of all the tribes was Philip's 
hope and New England's fear. John Leverett, a soldier of 
Cromwell, was then at the head of affairs ; and he, rising to the 
crisis, now showed all the energy that might be expected from 
a scholar who had served his apprenticeship under so able a 
master. But at first the scale of victory inclined heavily in 
Philip's favor. Instead of combats we read only of massacres ; 
instead of victories, the record shows disaster upon disaster. 

Driven at length from his own stronghold, Philip, at the 
head of a small band of his warriors, retired into the heart 
of the Nipmuck Country, which then extended^ a wilderness of 
swamps, thickets, and mountain-defiles, between the seaboard 
settlements and those lying in the lovely Connecticut Valley. 
A single road traversed it. A solitary outpost, around which 
a feeble settlement had grown up, was planted in the midst 
of this solitude; this was Brookfield. 

The sanguinary struggle was here renewed ; and here some of 
the best blood in the Colony was uselessly shed. Upon this 
isolated post Philip's confederates, the crafty Nipmucks, fell 
mth fury. Soon after this they were joined by Philip in per- 



452 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

SOU. He now aimed at nothing less than the total destruction of 
the isolated valley-settlements. The Colonial forces that had 
been sent for the relief of Brookfield, after suffering severely in 
several bloody encounters, succeeded in driving the exasperated 
enemy back upon the Connecticut settlements, which thus 
speedily became the battle-ground of the combatants. Here, 
alas ! the bones of many a stout soldier moulder in unknown 
graves. 

There were several tribes living at peace with the whites in 
this valley whom the news of Philip's successes now threw 
into a fever of excitement ; his agents did the rest. These tribes 
had received his wampum, and were secretly sharpening their 
hatchets. The wliite people, taking the alarm, and being more- 
over warned of what they might presently expect from such 
dangerous neighbors, attempted to disarm them ; but the attempt 
resulted in these Indians going over to Philip in a body. They 
were pursued, overtaken, and brought to bay near Sugar-Loaf 
Mountain, in Deertield ; but they succeeded after a sharp fight 
in making good their retreat. This occurred on the 25th of 
August. 

On the 27th the English were defeated at ]N"orthfield, and fled 
in confusion back as far as Hadley before they rallied again. 
On the 1st day of September the enemy made a bold onslaught 
upon Deerfield, and nearly destroyed the whole settlement. 
Thus for a whole week the inhabitants of this part of the 
valley had been constantly harried and beset. With the enemy 
always at their doors ; with the war-whoop sounding hourly 
in their ears ; with the hurrying to and fro of armed men and of 
fugitives, — one does not ask whether the inhabitants were in a 
state of perpetual alarm. 

Such was the condition of the little community, among Avhom 
the regicides lay concealed, on the 1st of September, 1675. 
Their lives were now doubly threatened. 

We will now let an eminent historian and novelist take up 
the narrative. The dramatic power of the simple incident 
needed no attempt at embellishment, and none is made. 



THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. 



453 



In Sir Walter Scott's 
relates this story : — 



" Peveril of the Peak " BridLfenorth 



" I was by chance at a small village in the woods more than 
thirty miles from Boston, and in a situation exceedingly lonely, and 
surrounded by thickets. Nevertheless there was no idea of any dan- 
ger from the Indians at that time ; for men trusted in the protection of 
a considerable body of troops who had taken the field for the protec- 
tion of tlie frontiers, and who lay, or were supposed to lie, betwixt 
the hamlet and the enemy's coimtry. But they had to do with a foe 
whom the Devil himself had inspired with cunning and cruelty. It 




GOFFE KALLYING THE SETTLERS. 



was on a Sabbath morning, when we had assembled to take sweet 
counsel in the Lord's house. . . . An excellent worthy, who now 
sleeps in the Lord, Nehemiah Solsgrace, had just begun to wrestle in 
prayer, when a woman with disordered looks and dishevelled hair 
entered our chapel in a distracted manner, screaming incessantly, 
'The Indians! The Indians!' In that land no man dare separate 
himself from his means of defence; and whether in the city or in the 
field, in the ploughed land or in the forest, men keep beside them 
their weapons, as did the Jews at the rebuilding of the Temple. So 
■we sallied forth with our guns and pikes, and heard the war-whoop 



454 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 

of these incarnate devils, already in possession of a jiart of the town. 
... In fine, there was much damage done ; and although our arrival 
and entrance into combat did in some sort put them back, yet, being 
surprised and confused, and having no appointed leader of our band, 
the devilish enemy shot hard at us, and had some advantage. ... In 
this state of confusion, and while we were about to adopt the desper- 
ate project of evacuating the village, and, placing the women and 
children in the centre, of attempting a retreat to the nearest settle- 
ment, it pleased Heaven to send us unexpected assistance. A tall 
man, of reverend appearance, whom no one of us had ever seen be- 
fore, suddenly was in the midst of us as we hastily agitated the reso- 
lution of retreating. His garments were of the skin of the elk, and 
he wore sword and carried gun : I never saw anything more august 
than his features, overshadowed by locks of gray hair, which mingled 
with a long beard of the same color. ' Men and brethren,' he said, in a 
voice like that which turns back the flight, ' why sink your hearts ? 
and why are you thus disquieted 1 Fear ye that the God we serve will 
give ye up to yonder heathen dogs ] Follow me ; and ye shall see 
that this day there is a captain in Israel! ' He uttered a few brief 
but distinct orders, in the tone of one who was accustomed to com- 
mand; and such was the influence of his appearance, his mien, his 
language, and his j^resence of mind, that he was implicitly obeyed by 
men who had never seen him until that moment. We were hastily 
divided by his orders into two bodies, — one of which maintained the 
defence of the village with more courage than ever, convinced that 
the unknown was sent by God to our rescue. At his command they 
assumed the best and most sheltered positions for exchanging their 
deadly fire with the Indians ; while under cover of the smoke the 
stranger sallied from the town at the head of the other division of 
the New-England men, and fetching a circuit, attacked the red 
warriors in the rear. The surprise, as is usual among Indians, had 
complete eff'ect ; for they doubted not that they were assailed in their 
turn, and placed betwixt two hostile parties by the return of a 
detachment from the provincial army. The heathens fled in confu- 
sion, abandoning the half- won village, and leaving behind them such 
a number of their warriors that the tribe hath never recovered their 
loss. Never shall I forget the figure of our venerable leader, when 
our men, and not they only, but the women and children of the vil- 
lage, rescued from the tomahawk and scalping-knife, stood crowded 
around him, yet scarce venturing to approach his person, and more 



THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. 455 

minded, perliaps, to worship him as a descended angel than to thank 
him as a fellow-mortal. ' Not unto me be the glory,' he said ; ' I 
am but an implement frail as yourselves in the hand of Him who 
is strong to deliver. Bring me a cup of water, that I may allay my 
parched thirst ere I essay the task of offering thanks where they are 
most due.' Sinking on his knees, and signing us to obey him, he 
poured forth a strong and energetic thanksgiving for the turning back 
of the battle, which, pronounced with a voice loud and clear as a war- 
trumpet, thrilled through the joints and marrow of the hearers. . . . 
He was silent : and for a brief space we remained with our faces bent 
to the earth, no man daring to lift his head. At length we looked 
up ; but our deliverer was no longer amongst us, nor was he ever 
again seen in the land which he had rescued." 



To this faithful rendering of the tradition from the matchless 
pen of the Wizard of the JSTortli is pendant Soutliey's unfin- 
ished poem of " Oliver Newman," — a v>-ork intended to realize 
this author's long-meditated purpose of writing an Anglo-Amer- 
ican epic. The story of Goffe's appearance among the panic- 
stricken settlers at Hadley so strongly impressed him, tliat he 
determined to make it the main incident of an historical poem, 
which, unfortunately for tlie world, never advanced beyond the 
first stages of development. The characters are introduced, and 
the action begins, — when the curtain falls, leaving us, indeed, 
with the programme in our hands, in the form of notes, but with 
the sense of irreparable loss to us and to our historic annals. As 
if to compel the admiration due to genius, Southey makes one of 
the despised sect of Quakers his hero, who, from a double sense 
of duty and filial love, lias crossed the ocean in search of his 
proscribed and fugitive parent. 

This remarkable tradition did not escape the quick recogni- 
tion of our own master of romance. It is accordingly the sub- 
ject of one of Hawthorne's earliest tales, entitled " The Gray 
Champion." It is true that the action is transferred to Boston, 
that the time is brought forward ten years, and that tlie author 
seeks to produce a moral rather than a physical effect in his 
climax. But the incident is still the same. The Gray Cham- 



456 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



pion who suddenly confronts Sir Edmund Andros and his re- 
tinue in the streets of Boston and bids them " stand," is no 
other than tlie fugitive regicide ; and his purpose is still to exalt 
the spirit of the people by the timely display of the superiority 
of moral over mere physical power on the side of the rightful 
cause. Such is the tradition. 

Dr. D wight relates that Mr. Eussell's house had been pulled 
down some years previous to his visit to the spot in 1796, but 




GRAVES OF THE REGICIDES, NEW HAVEN. 



that Mr. Gaylord, the owner of the estate, gave him the following 
fact concerning it. When the workmen were demolishing the 
building they discovered, just outside the cellar wall, a crypt 
built of solid masonry and covered with hewn flagstones. 
Within this tomb were found the bones of Whalley. After 
Whalley's death Goffe quitted Hadley, living sometimes in one 
place and sometimes in another, under various disguises and 
aliases that have given rise to other legendary tales concerning 
him or the places that became his asylum. 

By a hyperbole, exaggerated perhaps, but still pardonable in 
a people who traced everything in man or nature to the active 
intervention of the Most High, the unknown savior of Hadley 



THE UNKNOWN CHAMPION. 



457 



was long spoken of as an angel sent for their deliverance. His. 
sudden appearance among them, his strange garb and speech, the 
dignity and authority of his manner, and finally his unaccount- 
able disappearance in the moment of victory, may well have 
exalted him in their minds to a supernatural being. King 
Charles would have decapitated the regicide ; our antiquaries 
would decapitate both angel and legend with as little remorse. 
As the custodian of each, we say, in the language of the royal 
martyr when upon the scaffold, "Do not touch the axe." 




INDEX. 



Adams, Samuel, 84. 

Agamenticus, Mount, 331. 

Agassiz, Louis, 155. 

Alden, John, 37S). 

Alden, Rev. Timothy, 379. 

Andros, Lady, -^82; Sir Edmund, 42-t. 

Anville, Due d', 71. 

Arnold, Governor Benedict, 398. 

Ashton, Philip, 212. 

Avery, Joseph, 245; Avery's Fall, 250. 

Babson, Ebenezer, 254. 

Barnard, Rev. John, 207. 

Bellingham, Riehard, 33, 51. 

Besse, Jo.seph, 180. 

Blackbeard, 66, 350. 

Blackstone, William, 6, 10. 

Boar's Head, 322. 

Boston, ideal description of, 3-G; in 

1634, 14; in 1770, 99. 
Bradford, William. 368. 
Brainard, J. G., 427, 431, 4.35. 
Bray, John, 119. 
Brewster, Margaret, 57. 
Brock, Rev. John, 347. 
Brown, Rev. Arthur, 341. 
Butter, Edward, 18G. 

Calef, Robert, 60. 

Cape Ann, description of, 237. 

Champeniowne, Francis, 357. 

Charter Oak, The, 421. 

Cheesnian, Edward, 262. 

Chilton, Marv, 380. 

Clifton, Hope, 40. 

Coddington, William, 16, 20, 21. 

Coffin, Joshua, 287. 

Cole, Eunice, 328. 

Conant, Roger, 167. 

Coolidge, Cornelius, 153. 

Corey,' Giles, 194. 

Cotton, Rev. John, 13. 

Dana, R. H., 240, 403. 
Davenport, Ftev. John, 417. 



Davis, Nicholas, 40. 
Dawes, William, 84. 
Dexter, Timothy, 292. 
Dighton Rock, 395. 
Dimoud, John, 144. 
Double-headed Snake, 307. 
Dudley, Thomas, 137. 
Dungeon Rock, 134. 
Dyer, Mary, 36. 

Egg Rock, 148, 161. 

Eliot, .John, 20, 123. 

Eliot, William, 246. 

Eliot Oak, 121. 

Endicott, John, 41, 44, 51, 170, 180. 

English, Philip, 176. 

Familist Coutrovensy ; see Anne 

Hutchinson. 
Fields, James T.. 240, 265, 447. 
Fillmore, .John, 261. 
Fitch, Thomas, 434. 
Frankland, Sir Charles H., 221. 
Franklin, Benjamin, 66. 

Gage, General Thomas, 81 . 

Gallup, John. 67. 

Garrison, W^illiam Lloyd, 138. 

Goffe, Colonel Williani, 449. 

Goldsmith, Ralph, 49. 

Gorges, Robert, 153; Ferdinando, 331. 

Gos'nold, Bartholomew, 442, 443, 444. 

Gould, Hannah, 303. 

Great Elm of Boston, 35, 69, 105. 

Green Dragon, 81. 

Hampton, N.H., 319. 

Hancock, John, 84. 

Harraden, Andrew, 261. 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 163, 169, 172. 

Heartbreak Hill, 279. 

Hibbins, Ann. 28. 

Hibbins, William, 30. 

High Rock, 141 . 

Hill, Joseph, 431. 



460 



NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. 



Hilton, Martha, 339. 
Uollingsworth, William, 176; Su- 
sanna, 170. 
Holmes, 0. W. ; see "Contents." 
Hooper, Madam, 299. 
House of Seven Gables, 173, 174. 
Hubbard, William, 245, 369. 
Hutchinson, Anne, 11. 
Hutchinson, William, 12, 14, 1.5. 
Hutchinson, Thomas, 18. 

Ipswich, Mass., description of, 273. 
Ireson, Benjamin, 227. 

Jaques, Richard, 301. 
Josselyn, John, 158. 

Kelley, E. G., 301. 
Kidd, Captain Kobert, 346. 

Lamb, Charles, 188. 
Larconi, Lucy, 242, 2G7. 
Levcrett, Governor John, 449, 450. 
Lewis, Alonzo, 132, 144. 
Longfellow, H. W., 151, 155. iSee 

"Contents." 
Louisburg, C.B., 71, 259. 
LoAv, Edward, 213. 
Lynn, Mass., description of, 137. 

Macy, Thomas, 310. 
Main, Harry, 274. 
Marble, Hiram, 135. 
Marblehead, description of, 205. 
Martin, Michael, 119. 
Mason, Captain John, 331. 
Mather, Cotton, 61, 395, 417. 
Mather, Increase, 64, 245, 307. 
Maushope, 444, 445. 
Moody, Rev. Joshua, 178. 
Morton, Thomas, 128, 365. 
Motley, J. L., 152. 
Moulton, Jonathan, 322. 
jMullins, Priscilla, 385. 
Mullins, William, 385. 

Naiiant, description of, 148. 
Nason, Elias, 371. 
Newliurv, Mass., 284. 
Newburyport, description of. 284. 
Newport Mill, The, 394. 
Nix's Mate, 66. 
Norman's Woe, 263. 
Noyes, Rev. Nicholas, 174. 

Old Elm of Newburv, 301. 
Omens, 208, 209. 

Passaconaway, 129, 359. 
Perkins, Thomas II., 153. 



Philip, King, 414, 451. 
Phips, Sir William, 179. 
Piracj', 132, 211, 212, 261. 
Pitcher, Marv, 137. See Dimond. 
Pitcher, Robert, 144. 
Plum Island, 286. 
Plummer, Jonathan, 29G. 
Pollard, Anne, 380. 
Poquanum, 153. 
Prescott, W. H., 152, 155. 
Prince, Rev. Thomas, 75. 

Quakers, 46, 56, 184, 310. See Brews- 
ter; Dyer; King's Missive; Macv, 
etc. 

Rainsborough, William, 22-27. 
Redd (or Read) Wilmot, 210. 
Revere, Paul, 78. 
Robinson, William, 40, 312. 
Roxbury Pudding-stone, 111. 
Rule, Margaret, 62. 
Russell, Benjamin, 373; Rev. Wil- 
liam, 450. 

Saint Aspenquid, 360. 

Salem, description of, 167. 

Salem Village, 191. 

Scarlet Letter, 17], 172. 

Scott, Sir Walter, 453. 

Sea-serpent, 156. 

Sewall, Samuel, 57, 304. 

Shattuck, Samuel, 49, 50, 51. 

Shawnnut; see Boston. 

Shirley, William, 73. 

Sigourney, L. H. ; see " Contents." 

Skeleton in Armor, 397. 

Smith, Captain John, 153, 243. 

Southey, Robert, 455. 

Southwick, Cassandra, 184; Daniel, 

185 ; Josiah, 185; Laurence, 185; 

Provided, 185. 
Spofford, Harriet P., 286. 
Standish, Myles, 383. 
Stevenson, INIarmaduke, 40, 312. 
Storv, Joseph, 189. 
Story, W. W., 168. 
Surriage, Agnes, 223. 
Swampscott, 162. 

Taylor, Bavard, 239. 
Thacher, Anthonv, 245. 
Thacher's Island.' 244. 
Thaxter, Celia, 355. 
Toppan, Rev. Christopher, 308. 
Trimounfain; see Boston. 
Trumbull, Benjamin, 427, 431. 
Tucke, Rev. io\m, 347. 
Tudor, Frederick, 153. 



INDEX. 



461 



Underwood, Francis H., 264. 
Upham, Rev. Charles W., 260. 
Uring, Captain Natliauiel, 369. 

Vane, Sir Henry, 15, 18. 
Veale, Tliomas, 134. 

Waban, 121. 

Wadsworth, Captain Jeremiah, 420. 
Waldron, Richard, 329. 
Walford, Thomas, 0. 
Walton, George, 333. 
Wardwell, Lydia, 56. 
Washington, George, 117. 
Washington Elm, 115. 
Wentworth, Benning, 337. 
W^esson, Margaret, 260. 
Weston, Thomas, 365. 
Whallev, Colonel Edward, 450. 



Wharton, Edward, 311. 
Wheelwright, Rev. John, 13, 18. 
Whitefield, Rev. George, 289. 
Whitman, Elizabeth, 196. 
Whittier, J. G., 138, 145, 286. Hee 

"Contents." 
Willis, N. P., 148. 
Wilson, Deborah, 50. 
Winnepurkit, 128. 
Winslow, John, 380. 

Winthrop, John, 17-21, 240. 

Witchcraft, 169, 170, 188, 210, 253, 
259. -See Calef; Corey; Hibbuis. 

Wolcott, Governor Roger, 434. 

Woodbridge, Benjamin, 69. 

Woodworth, Samuel, 370. 

Worthvlake, George, 66. 

Wvllvs, Samuel. 422. 

WyllVs Hill, 422. 



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